Things Not Spoken
by plenoptic
Summary: Megatron rules over Cybertron with his mate Elita One by his side. Unbeknownst to him, Elita feels a pull on her spark for OptimusPrime.Ch25 Optimus struggles to choose between his only two loves. Elita considers her feelings for him. As for the Primes...
1. Chapter 1

**Things Not Spoken**

_Plenoptic_

**My thought process concerning this story…1. Megatron and Optimus probably ruled well together. 2. After all, Optimus had his Elita to keep him happy. 3. Wouldn't it be crazy if Megs had a femme? 4. Wouldn't it be crazier if _Elita_ was his femme? 5. …Wouldn't it be totally slagged up if he walked in on Optimus and Elita kissing?**

**And thus, this story was born…I'm fairly sure it was inspired by something I read a long time ago. Another MegatronXElita that creeped me out just a little bit, but at the same time intrigued me…so now I'm pursuing the topic. Please enjoy, please review, in that order. More upon request.**

**NOTE: Skyfire is Jetfire's name in the G1 comics. **

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Cybertron, pre war**

**Current leaders: Lord Megatron (government), Commander Optimus Prime (military)**

_It was strange. Strange how a planet so full of peace could plunge so suddenly into turmoil…into absolute war. It was hard to gaze upon the barren, battle torn landscapes of Cybertron's great steel surface and picture this desolate place as a once mighty metropolis, an oasis in black space. Greatness of any union comes through greatness of its leaders, and Cybertron was no exception. Its people lived well under the jurisdiction of Lord Megatron, namely, and his older brother, Commander Optimus Prime._

_Megatron stood atop the government platform, every bit Cybertron's rightful ruler and heir. Though not altogether charismatic, he had a different way with words…one that made everyone want to listen. He was known to be cold, but not uncaring…indifferent, but not uninterested. He was contradictory in and of himself, but it was good in politics, right where being neutral could mean the difference between life and death…in some sense._

_Optimus Prime knew a different definition for life and death. Though the elder of the two lords, he was perfectly content to lead his troops across the battlefield, across the stars. He was gone frequently, and when he was on his home planet it was often to recover from his injuries. He wasn't much of a public speaker…he had a quiet, sincere manner that made many wary of him. He was serious, a thinker, a logical mech in every way. He had few close friends and many acquaintances…life had made him somewhat cynical. He was fit to lead a planet…but more willing to lead an army. _

_Two lords, and one planet. Both special in their own ways…and close though they were, they couldn't have been more different. Megatron had a way of getting his point across, and the people of Cybertron listened to him. They knew little of the war-torn, tragic commander who stood in the shadows, his face hidden by his mask. So it came as no surprise when the femme who had become a prodigy chose Megatron._

_Elita One. Beautiful, intelligent, clever, fearless, compassionate Elita One. She'd made a name for herself both on the battlefield and off, assisting Megatron in his campaigns against the High Council and Senate. He'd fallen in love with her nearly on first sight, though she had been somewhat reluctant to admit the fickle mech into her spark. Though they were not yet bonded, Cybertron's citizens fully expected it._

_Lord Megatron. Commander Optimus Prime. The two great heroes, the only two who stood tall upon Cybertron's great mount. Both hid themselves behind layers of armor, their sparks shielded behind ice. Only Elita had melted through the barriers of both…and soon, her spark would be bonded with Megatron's. The Cybertronians anticipated it. They expected it…_

_What they did not expect was the fickle decisions of the spark._

**DECAGON**

**Third passing of first satellite**

**Command HQ**

"Wow. There's an incredibly handsome mech in here who looks _just_ like my mate."

Megatron smiled as her gentle arms entwined around his waist. "You're late today. What happened to the punctual femme I've become so accustomed to seeing in my recharge bed?"

"You left her behind this morning," Elita growled, pressing her face into his back. "You should have woken me up, you little Pit-spawn."

"Well, if that's how you're going to talk to me today, shall I just assign you off to sentry at the Smelting Pools?"

"Okay, I lied. You're like the child of Primus or something. Seriously. It's like you just dropped out of the Well of All Sparks. Please don't station me at the Smelting Pools, _please._"

"Alright."

"That was fast," she snorted, releasing him and coming to his side. She pulled his arm down so she could read the document in his hand. "Oh, Prime's squad came back?"

"So it would seem. He'll be coming here shortly, he had business to attend to in Iacon first. I tried to convince him to come straight back; he was injured in a skirmish at Nebulon. But, stubborn mech that my brother is…yes, he'll be here within the joor."

"Good," Elita said, letting go of her mate and smiling slightly. "We'll have Ratchet take a look at him, right?"

"Ratchet and Ratchet alone."

She laughed. "When does your shift end?"

"A couple joors. Why? Did you have something in mind?"

"I was hoping to meet you in your office," she purred, lifting a sly optic to look up at him. A small grin twitched across his face; he was going to get lucky in a few joors and he knew it slagging well. "Just come get me when you're done, okay?"

"Will do."

She stood on her toes and planted a gentle kiss upon his lips before easing herself down and leaving the command center, sparing a moment to toss him a wave before closing the door behind her. Megatron sighed and looked out over the command center, surveying the activity below the captain's platform. Mechs swarmed back and forth, exchanging shouts across the wide room simply for the joy of shouting. Megatron frowned slightly; closed link communications were so much less grating on the circuits. He leaned forward over the balcony, his intensely acute audio receptors picking up on snatches of gossip and such.

"Hey, do you have that report on Sector 21153?"

"What?"

"I said, DO YOU HAVE THE REPORT ON SECTOR 21153?"

"I can't hear you!"

"…_What?_"

Rolling his optics, Megatron switched conversations…

"Who's the sexy pink chicka?"

"That's Elita One, you aft shaft!"

"Huh? Oh, really? Like, the Boss's femme? Man, what I wouldn't give to have her in my recharge bed one of these nights…"

"You pervy little Pit-spawn, _Megatron's in this room!_ If he catches you talking like that…"

Resisting the urge to pull out his fusion cannon from subspace and shoot the lecherous mech below, Megatron pushed off the balcony with a heavy sigh. He was lucky, and not once had hedoubted it. Elita was his. Indomitably, unchangeably, irreversibly his. The most beautiful femme he'd ever clapped optics on was always willingly at his side, always giving him her love…it was an irreplaceable gift. The thought of losing her…especially to another mech…made his spark ache with pain and rage. But Elita would never turn to someone else…not Elita…

Never.

**Joors later...**

**Command Quarters Wing**

The two moseyed up to his quarters, their quiet laughter ringing in the empty halls as they raced up the steps and through the long passages to the command corridor, where the lords' quarters were located. Elita led her mate along, pulling him by the hand. Occasionally he teased her, digging his heels in and causing her to jerk and fall back against him. After being subdued by this trick five times she let him take the lead. He reached behind him, palms up, and she slipped her hands into his, smiling.

They both jumped slightly as a low rumble echoed in the hallway, and Megatron came to an abrupt stop, almost making Elita run into him. He pointed wordlessly, and she saw that the door to Optimus's quarters was ajar slightly, as though whoever had entered hadn't bothered to close it properly. Both inched forward, and Megatron reached out and pushed the door open delicately.

Sprawled ungracefully upon the recharge bed, his deep snores humming in his chest, was Commander Optimus Prime. Random papers and a half-unpacked cargo case were strewn upon the floor, as though he'd fallen into recharge before he'd had the chance to get settled in fully. He seemed undoubtedly exhausted; his breath was labored slightly, and Elita winced at the fresh welding in his shoulder and down into his chest, a painful memento from an enemy's sword.

"Should we let him rest?" she asked quietly, tugging Megatron's hand, but her mate had already strode boldly into the room and, without hesitation, shoved his sleeping brother off of the recharge platform.

"Whoa!" a startled Optimus yelped, hitting the floor with an almighty crash. "Ow…Primus, what the Pit was _that_ for?"

"When did you get back?" Megatron demanded, folding his arms over his chest as Prime climbed to his feet with a wince.

"About two joors ago…why does it matter?" the commander grumped, rotating his wounded shoulder to relieve the stiffness that had developed during his period of inactivity.

"Because I was worried, you slagging Pit-spawn! _Must_ you be such an aft?"

"I don't see any reason why I should check in with my younger brother every time I come back from a mission. You certainly don't."

"I never leave Cybertron. You, on the other hand, will be all over the galaxy for orns at a time, it's really quite taxing."

"Taxing," Optimus scoffed, rolling his optics. "Listen to this little aft-shaft…agh, I need to go to Ratchet."

"…Will you be okay?" Megatron asked worriedly, watching his brother massage the left side of his chest.

"Of course I will," Optimus replied dryly, but a faint smile lit his optics. "But thank you for asking. It's quite considerate, considering I just called you an aft-shaft."

"Well, seeing as I called you an aft _and_ a Pit-spawn, the insult was well deserved. So the mission was successful?"

"Yes, shockingly," Prime replied, sitting down upon his recharge bed and rubbing the bridge of his nasal plate. "Ironhide made a rather amusing blunder that wasn't so amusing at the time, but anyway I thought it would ruin us…I'll have to tell you about it later. Ah, Elita! How long have you been standing there?"

"Some time," she said, taking his acknowledgment as permission to enter the room. "Just how bad a blunder are we talking about?"

"It had Chromia in fits of laughter the entire way back," Optimus said warmly, surveying the femme fondly and…Megatron blinked. As Elita wrapped an arm around his waist and hugged him close, he could've _sworn_ he saw a flash of envy in his elder brother's optics, but…that was impossible. Optimus had never before had interest in any femme…why would he now, especially in his brother's mate?

The expression was gone as quickly as it had come, and Megatron was snapped back to reality by Elita's giggle. "And then what?"

"Ironhide picked her up, carried her off into his quarters, and they've been MIA ever since," Optimus said, lifting an optic ridge very slightly. "I'll probably have to barrel in there with Brawn and pry them apart, interface appliances and all."

"Hey! Easy on the content there, big guy," she said, smirking, but the blush in her faceplates was impossible to miss.

"I apologize," he chuckled. "I forget what fragile audio receptors you femmes have."

"I didn't say anything about femmes being fragile," she said somewhat heatedly, scowling at him.

"I caught implications of such," he said mildly, his optics bright and warm as he gazed upon her. She held him in her stern gaze for a moment longer before her expression, and she smiled.

"Rest up, big guy. You're on leave until that wound heals up, so don't be in any hurry."

"Oh, I won't be," he laughed, reclining back upon the recharge bed. "Now, since I was so rudely interrupted by my dear younger brother, I suppose I'll just be going back into recharge now. It's been a long few orns…" And he was out.

The lovers left quietly as his heavy snores resumed, Elita stifling a laugh and Megatron unable to resist a small smile. Optimus had a way of doing that to him. But only Elita could make his faceplates redden as they did when she leaned over to him and whispered, "I think you and I have unfinished business to attend to…"

**Rec Room**

The recreation room was always a lively place after the return of a deep-space crew. Ironhide and Jazz were reliving the details of their mission to the assembled group, complete with much shouting, mock-killing, and arm waving. Optimus lounged on the couch, excused from the active reenactment of his battle with the renegade commander due to his wound. Though his face was hidden as always, the amusement shone bright in his optics as Jazz badly attempted to imitate the commander's noble baritone. In the end, the Special Operations officer gave up and instead represented Prime with a ridiculously high falsetto.

"And then, Optimus is all like, 'We can still end this peacefully if you'll only see reason,' and then the bad dude's all—"

"Hey, wait, why does the Boss sound all funny?"

"He inhaled helium or something, okay? Just roll with it, you stupid aft. Anyway…"

"Hey," Elita murmured, and Optimus looked up. He felt his spark pulse quicken as the beautiful femme settled next to him…she was painfully close, he could feel his breath become more rapid…_No, stop it…_ "I couldn't miss the reenactment."

"Always worth seeing," he said quietly, chuckling as Jazz threw himself dramatically to the ground in symbolism of a renegade he himself had supposedly killed. "The little liar…he only hit that mech across the head, the guy was stunned for less than ten klicks…"

"That's our Jazz," Elita murmured, her optics twinkling.

"Oh, wait, you're forgetting the best part," Skyfire said loudly, jumping to his feet. "There was that one shot I made! There was this guy with a jet mode, he was like fifteen hundred feet up in the air, and I totally just lifted my gun and made this blind shot and blew him out of the slagging sky!"

"What?" Starscream squawked, looking up in shock. "You _liar!_ He hadn't even transformed!"

"Screamer, shut up, okay? They don't know that! Well, now they do, thanks to you. I thought you were my best friend, you stupid little traitor!"

"So now you're going to pout?"

"Don't talk to me! Shun! Shun the traitorous little aft!"

"How mature, Skyfire. I'm truly in awe of you."

"_Shun, shuuuuuu-nuh!_"

"Hey, you Pit-spawn are interrupting," Barricade said loudly, raising his voice above them. "Jazz, hurry up with the slagging story, will ya?"

"Thank you, Cade. Anyway, then Optimus did something totally awesome! The renegade captain, like, threw him, okay? Hard, man, that had to hurt. But as he's flying through the air—I mean, literally _flying_—"

"I tripped," Optimus muttered, but the words fell on Elita's audio receptors alone.

"—and the Boss just kinda maneuvers in mid-air and fires the most beautiful shot! Point blank, he takes this giant mech out, _bam!_, one shot clean through this dude's chest, and he collapses like a ton of bricks. So Optimus stands up and is all like 'Well, glad that's over,' and then—are you ready for this? This little sentry sneaks up behind him, and he lifts this slagging huge sword, right? He brings it down, and Optimus turns like 'Whoa!' and it goes through his shoulder and almost cuts him in half!"

Optimus rolled his optics with a snort; the whole battle was only _slightly_ over exaggerated. As in it was slightly more believable than Grimlock's supposed results that indicated he had an IQ of over three million megabytes. However, the mechs in the room seemed to be completely convinced, and many turned to gaze at him with new admiration.

Prime shifted somewhat uncomfortably, feeling many pairs of optics upon him as though searching for confirmation. "That was just a little unrealistic," he said mildly, glancing at Jazz, who grinned.

"Yeah, but it made you look good, right?"

This earned a few appreciative chuckles from the audience, and Jazz took a moment to look extremely proud of himself. Optimus sighed as the attention was turned back to the rest of the reenactment. Elita seemed to notice the sudden change in his relatively peaceful demeanor, for she placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder and indicated towards the door. Puzzled, he got up and followed her. Upon entering the hallway, she suddenly grabbed his hand and broke into a full out sprint, dragging him along behind her.

"Don't tell Megatron, okay?" she said over her shoulder, pulling him into a side door. "I'm not supposed to use this without him…"

Optimus blinked; they'd stepped right into an elevator shaft. She motioned to him, and he stepped closer to her so she could shut the doors. She quickly slammed a destination code into the pad in the wall, and with a steady hum the lift began to rise, carrying rather silent cargo. Elita pressed a finger to her lips when Optimus began to speak, and he leaned bashfully against the wall. It was strange, really…they'd been alone plenty, but…not like this. Not in such a confined space, so close their chests nearly touched, so close he could've reached out and touched her stunning face.

After what seemed like only a few moments the lift creaked to a stop, and even before the doors were fully open Elita had him by the hand once more, dragging him out another, smaller door and into an empty room containing only a short staircase.

"Come with me," she urged, releasing his hand and hurrying up the stairs. He heard a door open, and, bewildered, he ascended the stairs to join her.

"The roof?" he asked, somewhat blankly. She nodded and took his hand, leading him towards a spot upon which the setting sun shone directly.

"It's simple, but it's a good place to go when you just need to get away from it all."

"And you brought me here because…?"

She turned to him, her blue optics meeting his calmly. He felt a shudder pass through him. "Because you're not nearly as transparent as you seem to think."

He blinked, bewildered. "Elita…what…?"

She took a tentative step forward and, after a moment's hesitation, placed a hand over his chest, parallel with his spark. He stiffened slightly, fully expecting her to pull away, but she made no such movement. Elita lifted her palm to run gentle fingers up his chest, over his neck plates, to rest upon his cheek. He was momentarily shocked by the touch; he and Elita had always been close, always been there for one to confide dark secrets to the other, always friends. They actually touched often: always playful, always teasing. But this…her caress was so tender, so…so…_loving._ He'd seen her stroke his younger brother's face before, but never like this. A touch so devoid of passion, so achingly gentle, so full of love.

With a single deft twist of her fingers, she removed his faceplate. The mask clattered to the roof's horizontal surface, and neither made any attempt to retrieve it. For at this point—for whatever reason they had seen fit—they were locked in a tender kiss.

For a moment, he almost lost himself to her. He almost relaxed into her warmth, almost allowed his spark to press impossibly close to hers…and then reality broke through. As if shocked by electricity, he jerked away, lifting one hand to cover his exposed face.

"Optimus…" Elita murmured, reaching out to him, but he backed away further, his optics wild with panic.

"What are you _thinking_?" he asked in a hiss, stooping quickly and picking up his faceplate. "What about Megatron? He's your mate, Elita, you can't just—"

"My mate," she repeated firmly, meeting his gaze coolly. "And I'm his. That's it, Optimus, that's all there is to it. I'm just…someone for him to recharge with. I don't know. It's so slagged up, Optimus…I hate it. More and more, each night with him…I hate it."

He blinked, slightly surprised, the hand that was clutching his mask immobile at his side. "Elita…why didn't you tell me?"

She released a laugh, and his spark ached; she'd never sounded so sad. "What would I have said? 'Oh, Optimus, I'm so miserable…I think your little brother thinks I'm just a pleasure bot...' Yeah, that would've gone over well."

"I would have listened," he said quietly, and she sighed.

"I know. I don't doubt it, Optimus." Elita looked out at the setting sun, and with a slight moan made for the door. "Look. I'm sorry. I don't know what that was. Sorry about…you know…kissing you like that. It was nice to kiss someone without expecting interface five seconds later…"

On impulse alone he threw out an arm and caught her around the waist. He didn't know what was going through his cerebral processor at that moment…but only one phrase made itself clear to him.

_Don't let her walk away._

Elita blinked, shocked, as she was pulled into the warm embrace of Optimus Prime. As his lips descended upon hers, as his hand lifted to caress her face gently. She allowed her optics to flicker offline, feeling only darkness and the warmth of his kiss.

The mask dropped to the ground, and for the first time in its existence was forgotten.

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

**Like I said, more upon request. If requested, things to come…how will Megatron react when he finds out his mate is involved with his older brother? Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Plenoptic_

**I have no idea what the Cybertronian substitute for TV would actually be, so I just went with television. Try not to let it ruin the story for you. **

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

Social gatherings were nightmares in and of themselves. Democratic social gatherings were regular gifts from Pit. Especially since the majority of such meetings seemed to constantly be held nowhere but Decagon. Once every other deca-cycle or so, ambassadors from various regions across the planet gathered at the great military base to discuss whatever problem or solution popped into their processors. This left Lord Megatron in a very bad position indeed, as he was often the most coveted audience amongst the elderly mechs, and Elita One was often left to tag along behind him, almost as if she were a mascot.

It wasn't treatment she took kindly to.

That deca-cycle's meeting was particularly popular, as the commander, Optimus Prime, happened to be recovering on Decagon from his most recent campaign, and although he had wanted very much to hide in his quarters, his younger brother had insisted that they share the evening's pain together.

"Brotherly bonding my aft," Optimus was grumbling at present, leaning against the wall in a far corner of the room, away from prying optics. "This is the conference from Pit. The little slag-spawn hasn't said a word to me since we arrived…"

Which, all in all, wasn't really a bad thing; Optimus and Megatron frequently went orns without a word to each other. The point was that Elita was glued, against her will, to Megatron's side tonight, and if the lord was on the other side of the room, so was she. Prime sighed and shifted his weight to the other foot, wincing slightly as he rotated his wounded shoulder. The night was young yet, and already he'd been assaulted by various old senators asking for all the gory details of his campaign, none of which he was ready to relay.

But that was what Jazz was for, of course. The saboteur had proudly resumed his acting career to perform the reenactment in the center of the room for whoever wanted to watch. Which seemed to be half the room's occupants, incidentally. With a slight groan Prime realized this included his own younger brother, who was watching the performance with raised optic ridges and the occasional snort. Feeling his elder brother's optics upon him, Megatron turned, smiled craftily, and moved to join the weary commander. Which would have been a bad thing, but Elita was dutifully tagging along behind him.

"Interesting battle," Megatron murmured, leaning against the wall at his sibling's side. "So you got thrown, huh?"

"Mute it, Megs," Optimus growled, and the lord laughed lightly. "Look, he didn't throw me. I tripped. That was all."

"At least getting thrown would've been heroic," Megatron pointed out, punching his brother's arm playfully. "Sorry," he added hastily, as Optimus emitted a quickly stifled grunt of pain. "Have you been to see Ratchet?"

"Many times," Prime replied stiffly. "He's done all he can, I just need to wait it out. Hopefully it'll have healed up within the orn."

"Why the rush?"

"There's been a rebellion movement near Quintessa. I need to move out there and station troops until the situation is stable…" He noticed Elita's back stiffen slightly, as though in protest, but the femme said nothing.

"You just got back," Megatron said, frowning very slightly. "Surely you can take more than an orn to rest…"

"There is no rest for a soldier, Meggy-poo," Optimus snorted, and Megatron flinched at his ridiculous nickname. "I can rest all I want, but that's not going to bring peace."

"Peace can be achieved in other ways, brother," Megatron said solemnly, turning to face his commander in chief. "Perhaps we can reason with the rebel forces on Quintessa…"

"I'd love to," Prime replied swiftly, moaning slightly as he pushed off of the wall. "If you see fit, by all means, please try. However, I am a military combatant and I will act as such. If you'll excuse me, Megatron…Elita. I need to go find Ratchet…"

Elita turned her head away from him as he passed, unable to meet his optics, but she stiffened further more as his hand momentarily clutched at her hip. She opened her mouth, ready to call him on the too-affectionate touch, but by the time she'd gotten the nerve he was across the room and nearly out the door. She shut her jaw reluctantly, and found that her spark was hammering a dent in her chest. Trying hard to calm herself with Megatron noticing, she wrapped her arms around herself and gave her mate a very forced smile.

"I'll meet up with you later, okay?" she suggested, taking his hand briefly. "I'd like to go find Chromia."

"You mean I have to face all the ancient ones alone?" he groaned, a smile playing on his faceplates. He bent down and kissed her gently, a gesture she had to force herself to return. His lips weren't nearly as satisfying as his brother's. "Take your time, love. Enjoy yourself."

"Sure. Right. I absolutely will," she said quickly, taking a few steps back and plastering a smile on her lips before turning and walking away with speed she'd never before dreamed of achieving.

It wasn't hard to find Chromia; in fact, it was as simple as scanning the crowd for the colossal form of Chromia's mate. Who was just slightly hard to miss. At present, the couple in question were, like Prime had been, hiding in a corner, obviously partaking in a very heated argument with one another. Elita slowed her gait as she approached, unable to contain her smile; the two bickered just like sparklings.

Upon noticing her friend's arrival, Chromia looked up and smiled widely. "Elita! Quick, save me, Ironhide's being an aft!"

"Hey!" the weapons specialist snapped, hurt, and Elita laughed.

"I was just coming to get your help, as well. So let's rescue each other."

"Agreed," Chromia said vigorously, rushing forward and clutching her friend's hand. "See ya, 'Hide!"

"This ain't ovah!" he called after them as the femmes hurried away.

"Thank Primus," Chromia sighed, slowing her pace and grinning over her shoulder. "I was losing, too. You've got great timing, Lita."

"…Chromia, I need to talk to you. Like, now."

"Huh? Why? Something wrong?"

"I guess you could say that…I can't talk about it here, Megatron might hear us…"

Chromia blinked, surprised. What could be so important, so tragic, that Elita would fear her own mate overhearing? "Lita, what on Cybertron…?"

"Just come here," Elita moaned, tugging her friend towards the door. "Out on the southern balcony…"

The weapons officer obediently allowed herself to be pulled along by the rather frantic Elita, and they made their way quickly out of the busy conference room and down hallway after hallway to emerge upon the southern balcony in the cool night air. Elita released her hold on Chromia's hand and sank to her knees with a groan, burying her face in her hands.

"_Idiot,_" she whispered. "Slaggit, Chromia, I couldn't be more of a fool."

"What are you talking about?" Chromia questioned, crouching down and prying Elita's hands from her face. "Hey, Lita. Look at me. What's wrong?"

"Optimus…"

"What about him? Did he try anything on you? Primus, never would've pegged him for a perv…"

"No, no, nothing like that…well, not really," Elita amended quietly. "…I kissed him, Chromia."

A very startled silence ensued, during which Chromia could only goggle, optics wide an mouth wider, at her best friend. "Slag," she managed weakly nearly half a breem later. "First Megatron, now Optimus Prime himself…you're on fire, love."

Elita groaned loudly. "Chromia, this isn't a joke, okay? I kissed Optimus Prime! My mate's older brother! And you know how competitive they are, this could ruin everything…"

"Okay, okay, relax," the older femme said quickly. "Just breathe, Elita, clean out those vents, atta girl…all you need to do is find Optimus and tell him the kiss was a fluke, that you were stressed out, that you had a virus, a glitch, your processor was being whacked out…"

"…I guess," Elita mumbled, unwilling to admit to the rest of the story. Like the occasional presence of his large, warm hands in places where they should _not _have been…places she should have shoved him away from if it weren't for the fact that she secretly enjoyed every subtle caress of his fingers, though she absolutely refused to return the gesture. If anyone saw her feeling up Optimus Prime, it would be the end of her, and quite possibly the end of him. Somehow, even with optics constantly following his noble form, Optimus's suggestive gropes seemed to escape notice (not hers, of course). The femme commander sighed heavily; it was only a matter of time before sharp optics like Barricade's ratted out their secret affair…if one could call it that. The fact was, since the tender kiss upon the roof, Optimus and Elita had said scarcely one word to each other. That fact alone would have lead her to believe that the kiss, regrettably, really _was_ a fluke, but his invasive digits suggested otherwise.

"…You didn't mind that kiss, did you, Lita," Chromia implied gently, helping her friend to her feet.

"…I-I didn't _mind, _per say--I mean, I didn't try to stop him--but the fact is that it never should have happened," Elita replied helplessly. "I don't know what to do, Chromia…"

"Lita, why did you kiss him?" the weapons officer broke in carefully. This problem wouldn't be resolved until they tore apart its source, and deep down, both knew it.

"…Chromia. What…what do you think I am…t-to Megatron?"

"His lover. His mate. Someone he cares about. If I recall correctly, he pursued _you_, Elita, not the other way around. That should tell you something. Do you know how many femmes he regularly has on his aft? Yet he chose you. He cares about you, love, and you know it just as slagging well as I do."

The commander shook her head slowly, confused and lost. "I don't…know. I don't know, Chromia. He feels…not distant, but…I feel like I can't get into his spark. Like we're so far apart. Like I'm giving him everything I have to give, and getting nothing in return. Interface here, interface there, but no mention of spark-bonding."

"Would you bond with him if he asked?" Chromia asked skeptically, and Elita shuddered.

"Primus, no. I couldn't. Not after…he's so warm, Chromia."

"Wait, who are we talking about now?"

"Optimus. I mean, I…" Elita broke off. She was being stupid. Timid. Weak. Getting herself all worked up over a couple of mechs.

One of whom, incidentally, happened to be standing nearby.

"Elita," Optimus Prime said quietly, and both femmes jumped and whirled around, surprised.

"Optimus," she said tensely, instinctively taking a step back. "What on Cybertron are you…?"

"Chromia, could you…?" Prime gestured helplessly towards the balcony door, and without a word the weapons officer bowed herself out.

//I'll keep Megs away if I see him,// she promised over a private link with Elita. Although the younger femme didn't respond, there was an unmistakable look of thankfulness in her optics.

"How long were you there?" she promptly demanded of the mech, placing her hands upon her hips and glaring fiercely at him. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough," he replied, cocking an optic ridge. "Megatron loves you, Elita."

She blinked, taken aback by his abrupt statement. Why tell her this? Especially since Optimus himself seemed determined to have her for his own…

"But," the noble mech continued quietly, stepping closer to her. "I'm more interested to know where your spark is leading you. Who it is leading you to."

"It shouldn't concern you," she said shakily, her spark pulsing hard. She wanted to badly to run to him, cry into his neck plates…but her pride simply wouldn't allow it. "It's not something you need be worried about. If I am further concerned by Megatron's true intentions I will bring it up with him myself."

Optimus shook his head slowly, his optics disbelieving. "You don't need to be so strong, Elita."

"On the contrary," she snorted, lifting an optic ridge. "I am the mate of the single most powerful mech on Cybertron. Even he needs to collapse to someone every once in a while. When Megatron needs comfort, I can't exactly be bawling my own optics out."

"You shouldn't have that kind of responsibility placed upon you," he argued, yet his voice remained quiet. "You don't seem happy, Elita."

"And if I'm not, what is it to you?"

He sighed and closed the final distance between them, his mouth pressing upon hers, his hands clutching her hips. She pulled away almost on instinct, and although their kiss was broken, she couldn't escape from his arms.

"We can't do this," she insisted weakly, his warm touch sending tremors through her frame. "It's wrong, Optimus, we can't!"

"We _shouldn't_," he corrected softly, pressing his forehead intimately against hers. "We _shouldn't_ do this. What we _can _and _can't_ do isn't for Megatron to decide."

"What if I don't want to?" she challenged, and he smirked slightly.

"I know that's a lie."

"It's not!"

"So if I were to walk away right now--walk away and never give you a second glance--you'd move on? You'd continue with your life as if I were nothing more than an echo of what your happiness could have been?"

"You're overrating yourself," she snarled, drawing away from his arms. "If you honestly think I'm going to come crying to you whenever I'm in need of help--if you _honestly think you can save me--_then I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken."

"It wouldn't be the first time," he replied mildly. "But yes, Elita, that's honestly what I think. I think I can be of use to you. More so than Megatron, anyway."

"I don't want you to be of use to me!" she said, throwing her hands up in sheer exasperation. "Why do mechs have to _think_ like that? Like at least one person in a relationship has to be a _possession _of the other? If you're honest with yourself, Optimus Prime, do you _want_ me?"

"Badly," he replied brightly, and she slapped her forehead.

"Just forget about it, Optimus, okay?" she said pleadingly, lowering her hand to look up into his optics. "I'm sorry for…for leading you on or whatever. But that kiss was a fluke. I was stressed, I was worried about…about things…and you just happened to be there at the right time. I'm sorry. I truly, truly am, but we can't go on like this. We can't--"

"Then let's start over," he suggested, moving closer once more. "Let's forget about that kiss. Let's move on. Let's pretend we're starting with nothing between us. With nothing behind us."

"You don't get it, do you?" she groaned, shaking her head. "Optimus, I can't. I _won't._ Not with Megatron involved."

"Don't think about Megatron," Optimus said quietly, stepping forward and taking her hands in his. "Pretend he doesn't exist. There _is_ no Megatron. There's you. There's me. _Then_ what would you do?"

"…Something I shouldn't," she replied softly, lifting a hand to stroke his handsome face. "But he does exist, Prime. He's here. He's very, very real."

"Pretend he's not," he whispered, his hands wandering over her waist to rest just above her aft.

There was nothing between them. If Megatron were gone, they'd be free. The barriers would come down, one after another.

_Pretend he doesn't exist._

He tilted her chin back with one finger, and his lips collapsed upon hers. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him closer. His spark roaring with victory, he deepened their kiss, claiming the femme in his arms as his own.

Somewhere in a corner of her processor, as she melted in Optimus Prime's warm embrace, she realized she felt guilty. Her systems whirred, excited by the illicit kiss with her mate's brother. Somewhere in another corner of her processor she reveled in the irony of it all; this kind of situation usually only occurred in the sappy love programs on the television that she and Chromia normally made fun of. But, despite her misgivings, she couldn't pull away. The strong body was so close, so inviting…the young mech who cradled her in his arms was so warm…

So absorbed were they in one another that neither of the lovers noticed Megatron's optics upon them.

Nor could they have noticed the fury that seized his spark.

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Plenoptic_

**Thanks oodles to all of you who reviewed for this so far--I'd kind of like to see it have more success than New Beginnings, as it is a much more sensual, inspired story. Not that I'm not thankful for what New Beginnings has brought me…it totally launched me into the world of TF fan fiction. Thank you, brain! And more thanks to all of you who reviewed--your support and suggestions have kept all of my fan fiction alive and kicking.**

**By the way, to its fans, The Ties That Bind Us (chronicles of Optimus and Megatron as little ones) will be taken off hiatus as soon as New Beginnings is complete. Would you believe me if I told you I have the first chapter to an OC fic lying around? Ha ha…**

**Please enjoy…let's pick up with Megsy, shall we? Oh yeah…NOTE! For this fic, the Trilogy would be something like their bible.**

**Pre Cybertronian War**

**Current Leaders: Lord Megatron, Commander Optimus Prime**

**Fifth passing of first satellite **

**COMMENCE--**

For the briefest of moments, he was filled with indecision. For the briefest of moments, Megatron was unsure of himself; did he charge in and rip them apart? Did he tear his so-called brother limb from limb? Did he demand an explanation from his so-called mate? Did he shun both, remove both from his life…and his spark?

No, he conceded after a moment, and one foot retracted back into the shadows. He hung his head, swallowing hard. No. He looked up cautiously, and his spark clenched painfully as his brother's hand caressed Elita's face, though their lips had separated. They were speaking softly, too softly even for Megatron's sharp receptors to translate. He'd had every intention of separating them. But…her face…he looked back up at her, his spark aching for her as his optics took her in. She looked…happy. She was smiling, at least. Her optics were warm as they gazed upon Optimus's face, her hand gently massaged his injured shoulder. She seemed content. At peace.

Megatron's spark writhed in pain. He struggled to calm himself, afraid that his brother would sense his turbulence, though the commander seemed far too enraptured by the femme in his arms to notice much else.

Struggling to keep himself contained, Megatron took a few quiet steps back before turning on his heel and hurrying down the hall. He clenched his jaw hard, his grief welling within his chest. No. No, no, no…not Elita. Why had she gone to Optimus? What did his elder brother have that Megatron did not? Had he not been good enough? Had he been blind to her pain? Or had their love--rather, the love she felt for him--been false?

But…just now, in Optimus's arms...

She looked so _happy_.

"…Frag. Slag it all to Pit…"

He barreled into his quarters and threw himself upon his berth, burying his face in his hands. Again, he locked up his spark; he didn't want Optimus to see his weakness. Not now. The only person he'd ever reveal any vulnerability to was her…Elita…the one femme in multiverses who had ever captured his spark.

_Why_?

"…**Why?!**"

* * *

"Megatron?"

Optimus Prime's impatient knocks went unanswered, and the commander growled in frustration.

"Hey, I know you're in there!" he snapped irritably, stretching his sore back. Something cracked. _Oh, slag_. "You can't hide forever! What are you sulking about now?"

He waited for a response, but still, none was forthcoming. Optimus resisted, with some difficulty, the urge to kick the door. He wasn't a youngling anymore. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he tentatively reached out to his brother's spark.

And, unbidden, what returned was a wave of rage and hatred.

Optimus leapt back from the door, his pump racing, his spark screaming in pain even as the blackened feelings receded. He was breathing hard, his air intakes straining.

"Wh…what the Pit was that?!" he demanded, his own bubble of anger rising up within him. And beneath that--he took a moment to search his own spark--a bastion of fear. He rubbed his chest uncomfortably, his wound beginning to ache as his distress increased. He breathed deeply again to calm himself; he couldn't afford to damage his body any further.

But…what _was_ that? He'd never felt that kind of hatred from anyone, especially not his good-natured little brother! He and Megatron argued often, that much was true…but what in Primus's good name had Optimus done to deserve _that_?

The answer came more to his spark than his processor. By the time the thought had reached his computing center, his tanks were tying themselves in nauseating knots.

_He knows_, Optimus thought, anguish twisting itself through his spark. He reached out again, desperate to feel his little brother again. This time, however, there was no response.

"Megatron?" he asked quietly, pressing his foreplates to the door. "I…please. Open up. We need to talk. I'll override the door lock if I have to. Please."

No response.

Optimus overrode the lock.

Megatron's quarters were dark. Well, Optimus had rather expected that. The doors opened with a hiss, which was greeted by an identical sound from the mech within. Optimus made to flick on the lights, but thought better of it; instead, he pressed the release pad and allowed the doors to close.

He gave his optics a moment to adjust to the darkness. Everything in his brother's quarters was as it had been the last time Optimus had visited (which, admittedly, had been a long time ago). So at least Megatron hadn't been angry enough to tear the place apart. In fact, the only thing that was wrong was Megatron himself. He was leaning against the wall on his berth, his face buried in knees drawn up to his chest. His shoulders were shaking slightly.

"Go," he snarled hoarsely, and Optimus froze in his tracks.

"Megatron," the commander said quietly, regaining control of his feet, and one hard blue optic peeked out at him from the darkness.

"Optimus," Megatron growled, his optic narrowing. "I said, _leave me be_."

"You said 'go'," Optimus tried, but it was very clear, even after the words were out of his mouth, that his brother was in no mood for jokes. "Megatron, talk to me. What's wrong with you? If it's about--" he caught himself, then tried again. "If you happened to have seen--"

Something hard and sharp abruptly struck him across the face, and he staggered back with a muffled cry. He felt hot energon pour from whatever wound the projectile had inflicted, blinding his right optic. Looking down, his good optic was able to focus blearily on a flat of metal upon the floor. Optimus glanced up warily and felt his pump skip a beat; there were large panels torn out of the wall behind Megatron.

"Go," Megatron mumbled, the optic retreating. "Ratchet. Now."

Optimus hesitated and lifted a hand to his face; pain shot through his cranial circuits. The energon was flowing faster now, and already the commander was beginning to feel dizzy. He said nothing more before turning on his heel and departing his brother's black quarters.

Megatron lifted his head slightly as a ray of sunlight penetrated the plexiglass window. Something caught his attention, and he turned to look at the spot where his brother had been standing only moments ago. Glistening upon the floor, illuminated by the Cybertronian sun, was a small pool of spilled energon. Horrified, he looked at the scrap of metal he had thrown; it, too, was speckled with his brother's life fluids. He could see the razor-sharp edge where it had pierced Optimus's armor; it was like a wicked scythe.

Trembling slightly, Megatron glanced over his shoulder to gaze upon the long panels he had ripped from the wall, then looked down at his own fingers. Most of his armor had been completely worn down or away, leaving only hard, sharpened points where his fingertips had been.

Shuddering, Megatron reached into his own spark and wanted to run--wanted to run from _himself_. His spark--usually alive and radiant with his brother's love--now felt cold, black…empty. Shaking, he lowered his face into his hands, afraid of what he was at that moment…

And terrified of what he was becoming.

* * *

Optimus sat in silence upon the med bay bunk, his remaining good optic gazing wearily at the floor. A large amount of mesh was wrapped around his head, protecting the long rip in his foreplates and his damaged right optic. The commander sighed heavily; aside from the fact that he could very well lose his vision in that optic, this would mean another delay before he could return to the battle field.

He swallowed as his spark pulsed hard against its chamber; Megatron was making no effort to hide his emotions now. Either that, or he was in enough anguish that he couldn't even begin to hide his turbulent feelings from himself. Optimus tentatively reached through their bond, and shuddered as a wave of terror, of misery, poured into his spark. But he couldn't bear to put up a barrier against his brother's spark; he couldn't bear to deny his beloved younger sibling an outlet for his pain.

"Alrighty then," Ratchet said briskly, reentering the wing and approaching his patient, welder in hand. "I don't think I can do anything about that optic of yours right now, but I can certainly stop the leaking from the tear; the wires are going to take some sealing, though. Hope you don't mind, because you really haven't got a choice."

He chuckled at his own rather pathetic wit, but his laughter slowed when he realized that his patient had not, in any way, acknowledged the medic's attempt at a joke. Ratchet frowned and stopped in his unwrapping of the mesh, bending down to Optimus's optic level.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, lifting a hand to gently remove Optimus's faceplate. There was a soft click as he dropped it to the ground, staring up into Optimus's revealed face. "Optimus. Talk to me. I've never seen you in this much pain, little one."

Prime shook his head faintly, but his spark ached; Ratchet hadn't referred to him so endearingly since Optimus was a tiny sparkling. "I slagged up, Ratchet."

"I figured out that much. Tell me what happened?"

Optimus inhaled deeply. Up until today, he hadn't felt regret. He hadn't felt the guilt--not this clearly, anyway. He'd only felt their passion, their love, her lips upon his, the taste of her mouth, the way her body moved beneath his touch. Since the day of his return, he'd felt only _Elita_. He hadn't even thought…hadn't really taken a second to consider his own baby brother.

"I kissed Elita," Optimus said hollowly, and Ratchet stiffened. "It was so…sudden. I just had her there, and I…I wanted her so badly, I just…I couldn't…stop…" he hesitated, the awful and beautiful truth welling up in his spark. It wasn't fair. This was a realization he should be allowed to have with her, while kissing her, while he had her in his arms. Instead, he had found his feelings in the med bay, blind in one optic because of his devastated little brother. "I love her, Ratchet. I love her!"

"Oh, Optimus," Ratchet said softly, taking the younger mech's hand as he collapsed into weak sobs. "…I…slag. What a mess. He knows?"

Optimus nodded feebly, hot tears stinging his injured optic. "He saw us. I went to talk to him, went to just deliver the combat report, and he wouldn't let me in. He wasn't responding when I reached for him, until…he sent…it was…it was _hate_, Ratchet. It was loathing beyond that of Pit. Like he honestly, truly wanted me _dead_. Like he wanted to wipe me from the face of planet, like he wanted to condemn my spark to all Pit. I didn't…I tried to get back to him, but he wouldn't let me back in, so I overrode the lock on his door, and…this…" he indicated weakly at his face. "He hurled a sheet of metal at me. He'd been ripping panels out of the wall. I don't know what to do, Ratchet…frag it! How could I have been such an _idiot_?!"

"Easy," Ratchet coaxed gently as Optimus swayed slightly. "You have to be careful with head wounds. Lie down."

"I…Ratchet, where are you…?"

"I need more supplies. I have to stop the leaking," Ratchet said tiredly. "And you need rest. We'll see what we can do after you've recharged. There may still be a way out of this. Lie down," he added somewhat dangerously, and Optimus obliged.

The medic exited into the main bay, fishing around for supplies, and turned out the sound of opening doors. He sighed slightly. "Elita?"

The young femme looked down at her feet, biting her lip. "I hate myself," she proclaimed quietly. "It's all my fault."

Ratchet sighed heavily and put down his tools, approaching the femme cautiously. Much to her shock, and comfort, he abruptly pulled her into a hug.

"No one blames you," he said softly, resting his chin on her head. "You guys are just kids. You're supposed to slag up. That's part of maturing. You three will find a way. I'm sure of it. I've known you all since you were little sparklings. I believe in you. Follow your spark, Elita. You've got a good one. No matter whom you choose, I'm behind you all the way. I'm on your side."

She blinked and laughed quietly. "Why do you care so much, Ratch?"

"I'm a mech," he proclaimed, holding her back at arm's length and smiling proudly. "I am the Hatchet. I'll protect my femmes. Don't know where I'd be without you girls. It's my duty to watch over you. It's in the Trilogy somewhere. Now, go. He's in the left wing."

Elita nodded and slipped gently from his grasp. Her feet clicked softly upon the floor was she made her way down the darkened hallway. Her processor ached. Her spark was in knots. She felt lost, confused. Both Optimus and Ratchet had told her to follow her spark. But to whom was it leading her?

Optimus looked up upon hearing the doors hiss open, and a small, sad smile graced his faceplates. "Hey," he said softly, sitting up with some difficulty. "Are you okay?"

Her optics widened slightly as she settled onto the edge of the berth, and one hand lifted to stroke the mesh around his optic. "Oh, no, Optimus," she murmured, her spark writhing in pain. "He hurt you."

"I hurt him first," Optimus replied heavily, catching her hand in his and holding it to his cheek. "I slagged up, Elita. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"The fault is mine," she replied, shaking her head slightly. "I made the first move on you, Optimus. I went after you because for just once in my pampered little life I wasn't completely content, and--!"

"Stop," Optimus murmured, drawing her close. "I wanted you, Elita. I would have come after you anyway. I won't let you shoulder any of the blame for this. Any of it. This is between Megatron and myself."

"But I'm the cause of it all," she whispered, clenching a fist upon the berth. "I went after you! Just because I wasn't satisfied with Megatron!"

He placed a hand beneath her chin and tilted her head back to look up at him. "Are you saying you went after me because you wanted something to keep you occupied?" he asked quietly.

She felt the tears escape down her cheeks. He lifted his hand to wipe them away, and she turned her face into his palm. "Never," she whispered. "No, no, Optimus…it's not like that. I'm sorry. I'm being selfish. _You're_ the one who's hurting right now. Megatron's hurting right now. I haven't got the right to cry."

"Of course you do," Optimus replied, caressing her cheek gently. "You're hurting for both Megatron and myself. And I thank you for that, Elita."

She leaned close and pressed her lips against his, desperate to feel his warmth again. "Listen," she whispered weakly. "Please. I went after you because you are _you_. I kissed you because I've wanted you, too, Optimus…for a long time now, and I--"

"Shh," he breathed, his kisses tender upon her lips. "It's okay."

She gently touched the mesh across his optic, wanting more than ever to meet his warm gaze. Instead, the one optic still visible appeared glazed, and a storm lurked behind his face. A few turbulent winds escaped, clouding his expression, and she kissed him harder. To her great surprise, she felt warm, strong arms wrap around her, pulling her tight against his chassis.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips. "I love you, Elita One. I want you for myself. I want to make you mine before he can take you. I want you, body and spark."

"_I want you, Elita. I'd like to know if you want me back."_

"I can't," she gasped, drawing away from him abruptly. "I'm sorry. I can't, Optimus. It's…he already…"

He nodded slowly. "Alright. You're scared, Elita. I can see that. I can respect that. I won't touch you if you don't want me to." He hesitated, but at her slightly nod pulled her back into his arms. She sighed and snuggled deeper into his embrace. There was no passion here. She felt safe here. "I could never hurt you," Optimus whispered, his hands stroking her back. "Not on purpose. I'm sorry if I've hurt you already. I'm sorry if I'm hurting you now."

"It's Megatron," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Optimus. But…I can't hurt him, either. I loved him first."

She felt Optimus flinch; she could almost feel the torment in his spark. Slowly, reluctantly, he released her and got to his feet, leaving her no choice but to do the same. "I don't want to hurt Megatron," he admitted, his face torn with anguish. "I don't want to hurt either of you. I love you too much. Both of you. Yours and his are the most precious sparks in the universe to me. If you…if you think that _we_…"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her spark slowly icing over. "I'm so sorry, Optimus. But I can't do it to him. He'll fall apart."

He nodded slowly. "If you think that's best."

"For all of us," she said quietly, feeling the tears in her optics once more. "You deserve better than me, Optimus."

"And you better than me," he said, his face displaying his anguish, however much he tried to hide it. "I'm sorry I can't…help you."

"You did," she assured him. "But…"

"Relax. It's okay. I know. We have to keep him safe. Megatron's my little brother. He's your mate. I need to…rethink my boundaries."

A long silence followed. With a sigh, he took her hands in his. "So…I guess this is goodbye, isn't it."

She nodded hollowly. She wanted to apologize again. She wanted to tell him she was falling in love with him. She wanted to tell him how much warmer he was than his brother. But he'd suffered enough for one day. For one _lifetime_. They all had. Meeting his optics one last time, she turned and walked away.

He clutched her hand until she was too far away for him to hold on, and her fingers slipped from his.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_Plenoptic_

**Here it is…I've been brooding about this chapter since number three went up, and I've recently come up with a brilliant idea for Optimus's background. Why does our commander wear the mask…? No one expected it to have to do with a lost love…**

**To corrupt a femme is essentially rape. Sorry 'bout that, it was kind of important to this story…**

**What rocked about this chapter was that I could SEE everything that was happening in my head, so I just wrote what I saw. I think that kind of imagery is really important for a writer. Maybe...yeah, I think I dreamed this chapter last night. Whoo hoo! I love dreams that have Oppy in them...they're so much fun.**

**Pre Cybertronian War**

**Current Leaders: Lord Megatron (political), Commander Optimus Prime (militial)**

**Third Cycle of First Satellite**

"You've leaving?"

Megatron looked up at his elder brother, his optics wide with shock. Optimus Prime met his gaze tiredly, blinking slowly.

"Yes," the commander confirmed, nodding wearily. "I'm just starting the mission early. I've healed, I have my team ready…there's no reason to stick around any longer."

"Well…sure…but…" Megatron stuttered, staring in horror at the data pad. "Optimus…you don't have to go…"

"I need to get away for awhile," Optimus said quietly, shaking his head. "I need a break. I hate that I feel my only relief is to fight, but I don't see how I have a choice."

"I understand that," Megatron said quickly, looking back up at his brother. "But…Optimus, if this is about what happened between…us…and you and Elita…"

"I'm not supposed to do anything militial on a personal basis," Optimus corrected coolly. Then he smiled bitterly. "But I do need to take my mind off of it."

Megatron slowly returned his gaze to the data pad. "I'm sorry," he said hollowly. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," Optimus assured him quietly. "I brought this upon myself. It was my fault. And I got what I deserved, didn't I? I leave in the morning. Prowl isn't sure how long this mission is going to take. Could be a joor, could be a vorn. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"But you _will_ come back, right?" Megatron asked, getting to his feet as his brother turned away. "Optimus, you're going to come home…aren't you?"

"…I'm going to try."

Optimus departed without another word, but his spark sang its silent good byes to its brother. The door slid shut behind him, and he leaned against it, staring at the floor. He suddenly felt like purging his tanks. He felt like a sparkling, running from his problems like this…not to mention the fact that he was going to slaughter a cannibalistic demi-civilization to satisfy his own pain. Sure, that was a rather harsh way of putting it, but it was also the mission description minus the sugarcoated icing.

"Optimus?"

His spark twisted painfully at the mere sound of her voice. He didn't need to look up to confirm its owner.

"I'm leaving."

Elita One bit her lip, watching the commander with worried optics. "I…I know. Chromia told me."

"What a surprise," he snorted, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I was going to tell you myself. I just…didn't have the spark. Nor did I have the spinal structure. I suppose I was afraid of even talking to you."

"…You don't need to be. I mean, unless…unless you're angry with me."

"You're only trying to protect my own baby brother," Optimus replied, lifting his head and forcing a smile, though his mask covered it anyway. "I can hardly be angry with you for that, Elita. On the contrary, I'm quite grateful. My own restless spark is my own fault, not yours."

"I didn't have to lead you on," she mumbled, bowing her head, blushing with embarrassment. "It was wrong of me. I should never have given you that kind of false hope."

"It wasn't false hope," he replied quietly. "You were hoping too, weren't you?"

She looked up at him, timidly meeting his optics. "I'm sorry."

He sighed, tilting his head back to rest it upon the wall, gazing absently at the ceiling. "I'm the one who should apologize. I guess I was lonely. I guess I wanted to have her back so bad that I…" he trailed off, and Elita blinked. "But I was wrong," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "I should've seen it earlier. You're different from her. It's not like anyone could replace her anyway…"

"…Who?" Elita inquired quietly, and he glanced over at her.

"No one you know," he sighed, pushing off the wall and making his way down the corridor. "I'll come see you when we get back."

"Optimus!" she reiterated, jogging after him. "Who were you trying to replace?"

"Ask Ratchet," he said over his shoulder. "He's staying off the mission, you'll have lots of time. Ask him why I wear the mask. He'll tell you everything."

"You're okay with that?"

He glanced back at her and nodded slowly. "Yeah. I think...I want you to know. Until I get back...Elita."

* * *

Ratchet looked up, frowning. "Why Optimus wears his mask?"

Elita nodded cautiously. She'd been brooding over Optimus's parting words for the past three orns, and the question had finally leapt into words, escaping, unbidden, from her vocalizer. The med bay was empty, which made the question all the more opportune.

The medic leaned back in his desk, surveying the femme carefully. With a sigh, he pushed his chair out and got to his feet, moving to his primary work station. "Come on. I have to move around, it'll get my processor stimulated. There's a lot to remember about that mask, and it was a long time ago…come on, I said."

She hurriedly made after him, keeping a cautious distance behind the angsty medic. "I hear you've hit it off with Moonracer," she piped up, and flinched under the scowl he tossed over his shoulder at her.

"Do you want to know about Optimus or don't you?"

"I want to know," she said quickly. "Sorry…I was just trying to…"

"Lighten the atmosphere?" he chuckled. "Inquiring about my love life is not the best way to go about it, my dear. Now, that mask…" he leaned over the sink, scrubbing his hands in the warm solvent that frothed from the nozzle. "I guess it's been about two vorns now," Ratchet said quietly. "It seems much longer…though, to him, I'm sure it's as though it were only yesterday. There was a time when Optimus was much different than he is today. He used to be so much warmer, so much more cheerful. He spent most of his days fighting the rebels, but he never once let it get him down. You'd never guess he was a soldier, the way that boy used to smile. He was always happy, always laughing. He took nothing for granted…even the tiniest life was of the utmost importance to him. He would talk to you no matter who you were, no matter what your rank or social class…he helped out in the nursery all the time, taking care of sparklings and whatnot.

"Optimus was like an idol. He was always popular at social events, though I remember how he hated getting all polished up for them. He was a scholar…loved to learn. He'd spend hours in the library, reading old books and whatnot from vorns upon vorns ago. He used to say that once the uprising had been quelled, he was going to be a teacher. He wanted the new generation to love history as much as he did.

"As you can imagine, a big strong, intelligent mech like Optimus had his share of femme loyalties, as well. Ironhide and I often had to accompany him whenever he left base…they used to attack him in the streets. I remember one femme threw her breastplate at him. The poor little mech was horrified…he covered his optics and asked if anyone had lost it. He just didn't seem to get that they _wanted _him to see them naked…

"Um, well, anyway. That was the Optimus Prime we used to know, the Optimus Prime we loved. It was only a matter of time before he started to take an interest in those femmes…he went out of his way on base to talk to them, acting like all young mechs do. He tried to impress them, sweet talked them, and probably broke a good few sparks. We all expected him to walk into the rec room one day with a real knockout on his arm…but that wasn't the case. Quite the contrary, really.

"Optimus did eventually find a mate. But she wasn't at all what we were expecting. First off, she got really nervous in the rec room…she'd had a history of abusive mechs in her life, and the rowdy soldiers with high grade in hand dredged up some painful memories.

"It was a complete accident that we met her, really. A radical faction in underground Iacon had been holding…experiments. To this day we're really not sure exactly what they were up to…but one of our patrols picked up some insane energy signs from beneath the ground, so we went into investigate. We completely uprooted their headquarters, we demolished it…and we found the remnants of their experiments locked up in cells. There were around twenty in all…nineteen of which were dead. The only survivor of the radicals' cruel treatments was a small blue femme, whom we found clutching the dead body of a youngling…her little brother. She was just about in stasis lock when we found her. Optimus allowed me to give her an energon transfusion from his very own circuits, and it was only because of that that we got her out of there alive. He carried her back himself, despite several other offerings to do it. He was intrigued by the femme who had managed to survive when all others had perished.

"Her processor was virtually wiped due to the experimentations of the radicals, but she still knew her name: Aerith. The poor femme was an absolute wreck. She cried constantly for her little brother, and found sympathy in Optimus. He and Megatron lost a sibling in a rebel attack when they were newlings, you see--the same attack in which they lost their parents. Aerith was terrified of us, of bots in general. Optimus was the only one she seemed willing to trust. Maybe she was struck by his compassion, maybe she simply took a liking to the lugnut…we really have no way of knowing anymore.

"It took orns for her to heal, and during that time she warmed up to us. She liked to watch me work in the med bay, or watch Jetifre and Starscream in their lab. Optimus eventually asked her to stay away from there…they blew the place up too routinely for his liking. Aerith also started to get her memory back. One day she retrieved a tiny tidbit of information…and immediately begged Optimus to show her where the library was. He obliged, of course, and she spent the next half orn holed up in a chair, reading every data pad and book she could get her hands on. Optimus joined her frequently, to bring her energon cubes and just to be with her, I think. She loved knowledge and history just as much as he did.

"Optimus and Aerith fell in love, as we knew they would. I don't remember ever seeing that lugnut as happy as he was when he was with her. Aerith understood him. She saw that there was more in his spark than just kindness. She saw he was hurting, a hurt none of us had detected before. She healed him, as he did her. There wasn't one soldier on base who didn't expect to see them bonded soon.

"But…there was a complication. As we retrieved more and more of Aerith's memory, it was revealed that she had been a sniper before she was taken into captivity. During a mission, she was shot by a solid bullet…right in the spark. For whatever reason, her spark didn't extinguish…but it retained the bullet, and she fell into stasis lock. It was then that she was captured by the radical faction. In order to relieve her injury, they did the unthinkable…

"They split her spark."

Elita's optics widened, and a soft gasp escaped her vocalizer. To split another's spark was the most heinous crime documented in Cybertronian society. Once one's spark was split, there was no going back. It was a permanent scar, a permanent dent in their very existence…it literally made them less of a being than one with a whole spark.

"Well, she survived, obviously," Ratchet went on, busily scrubbing his syringes. "They split her spark and removed the portion that had reached symbiosis with the bullet's shell. They tried to reunite the halves of her spark, but it was done poorly, and they were altogether unsuccessful. It was because of this that Aerith and Optimus couldn't bond. She was missing a piece of her spark, and an incomplete bond could very well kill them both…her spark would be like a parasite in his, feeding off of his spark's energy. If they were to bond, Aerith would literally consume Optimus's spark until there was nothing left.

"That didn't stop them from continuing in their relationship. It obviously upset them, however, to not be able to claim that they were sparkmates. Optimus took to calling her his bonded anyway, but they both knew it was an empty claim on the other. When it became too much, Optimus proposed to her, regardless of the consequences it would have on his life. He would have given worlds just to feel as one with her. He just wanted to show Aerith that he really did love her. She refused him, however…she couldn't bear to hurt him, not after all he had done for her.

"They went on as best they could, and Aerith became a first-class sniper within Optimus's forces. However, on a frontal siege of a rebel base, a few mechs captured her, along with a few other femmes on our force. They taunted Optimus's men, trying to stir a reaction from them…and when they threatened Aerith, Optimus's fear was all over his face. He was plainly terrified, and it showed. They saw that, and…took Aerith. Optimus gave chase, but he and his men were apprehended by another rebel squad, and he was unable to reach her.

"It took us nearly an orn to find her again, and…she was in bad shape. We rushed her back to base, and I was able to save her once we got her to the med bay. However, after she told us her story, it was quite apparent that there was no hope left…the rebel mechs had corrupted her. But that wasn't really the problem. The _problem_ was the viruses they had injected her with in the process. Each and every one of her systems was essentially fragged…and we had antiviruses to only about half. The rest were unknown entities, produced on the side of the rebels. We predicted that she had maybe an orn or two left…her body was literally falling apart.

"Optimus was devastated. Still, he tried his hardest to make her remaining time meaningful. At first, it was almost as though nothing was wrong…but after a half orn or so, it became apparent that her systems were under stress. Jetfire and Starscream worked day and night for an orn straight to develop antiviruses, but to no avail. Optimus took her out to the countryside so she could have some peace, at least. He said they fell asleep one night on a hill overlooking the horizon, overlooking the sea. She fell into recharge with him and just...didn't wake up.

"Optimus was sparkbroken. He loved Aerith as much as life itself. He fell into a depression of sorts…I think life was just darker without her there.

"As time dragged on, he began to blame himself for her death. He told me that if he hadn't been so open about his fear that day, the rebels may have left Aerith alone. They may have lost interest, he said, if they couldn't get a rise out of him. But because they saw his fear on his face, they made Aerith a target. I guess it was then that Optimus began wearing his mask. He thought--and does to this day--that those closest to him are in danger, and he refuses to let his enemy see that weakness. He's made up all sorts of reasons for wearing the mask since then, but it all comes down to his Aerith in the end. To this day, he still wishes he could have protected her…and he hates himself for allowing the rebels to see his own weakness. And it's true that Aerith was a weakness in his spark…I just wish he could see that it's a weakness that is really a _strength_.

"But, anyway," the medic sighed, drying his hands. "Shamedly, I was rather happy when he became involved with you, even though it was an affair against Megatron. I thought…I was sure Optimus was falling in love again. For the first time since he lost Aerith, I thought he'd be able to smile again…from the spark, just like he used to."

"…I had no idea," Elita whispered, shaking her head, still reeling from the incredibility of the story she'd just heard. "I didn't know he'd lost a lover…I didn't know he was hurting like that."

"There aren't many bots who do," Ratchet replied, leaning against the counter. "The only ones who know about Aerith are those of us who were here on base with him those vorns ago…and that's not many, let me tell you. Even Megatron was stationed on a different base at the time, though he knew of Aerith. Apparently, Optimus never shut up about her on the communication line.

"But I don't believe for one moment that he took to you because you reminded him of Aerith, Elita," Ratchet went on, looking up at the shellshocked femme. "I believe with all of my spark that Optimus genuinely loves you. And I'm happy for that. As much Pit as that may bring me, I'm glad Optimus fell in love with you, no matter whose mate you are. He needs you, now more than ever. I'm not saying you have to take to him as a lover--no, that's more trouble than it's worth, what with Megatron like he is--but at least offer Optimus some sort of friendship. Who knows? Maybe that alone…

"Will be enough to make him smile again."

* * *

**I'm planning on writing a oneshot or something about Optimus and Aerith, for those of you who are curious about their relationship or want to know more about her. I personally love her character. :D I like showing a more gentle side of Ratchet, and I always imagined it would be a femme like Elita who could bring that out in him. Sorry about the shortness of this chapter. More soon...I hope.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_Plenoptic_

**Here we go!**

**I'm sad…Aerith's story wasn't received quite as well as I had hoped, but I can feel how sad you all are for Optimus…oh, maybe it's because I'm familiar with Aerith's character and you guys aren't. :D I was actually sad to kill her off, because I really like her. **

**(sniff) I was happy writing this chapter…I got to do a flashback (yay)! and I also got to involve a rather light-hearted scene between Optimus and Chromia. I can't help but feel that those two would make the best of friends.**

**Anyway, here's chapter five. Enjoy! Time for the angst to lessen…or will it increase? Mua ha hah…**

**NOTE: I went back to referring to Skyfire as Jetfire. It got too confusing, trying to remember to call him Skyfire all the time…**

**

* * *

**

**Pre Cybertronian War**

**Leaders: Lord Megatron (political), Commander Optimus Prime (militia)**

**Transition to Third Cycle of Golden Age**

**Second passing of Second Satellite**

"_Aerith…it's late. Why are you still up?"_

"_Hm? Oh, Lord Optimus--I was just watching the moons."_

"_Pretty active lately, aren't they?"_

"_Are you teasing me?"_

"_Mm…maybe just a little. Actually, I came up here to look at the moons myself. But we had better keep it a secret from Jetfire and Starscream that we were using their observatory…how did you get in here, anyway?"_

"_Oh, I, um…Prowl sort of gave me the override code."_

"_I see. Working favors, are we?"_

"_No, not at all! I just mentioned offhandedly that I was having trouble seeing the sky properly from my quarters--not that there's anything _wrong_ with my quarters, I just--"_

"_You should drop by mine sometime. The view's much better…"_

_The small blue femme looked over and up at him, slightly shocked. Her bright optics widened, and a blush erupted in her faceplates. Optimus chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging his lover close. He heard the tension whine in her hydraulics, and he rubbed her back absently._

"_You seem tired. What are you up to?" he inquired, looking down at her._

_She blushed harder, her face hot against his chestplates. She felt…fevered. "Nothing in particular. Just…I _have_ asked Ironhide to help me brush up a little."_

"_Brush up on what?" Optimus quipped, though if it involved Ironhide, he could very well assume their activities together…but he was at least going to make his beloved femme admit to it._

"_Um…shooting, actually. He said he'd help me."_

"_Why?" Optimus asked softly, resting his chin on her helm._

"_You know, you wouldn't think it, but Ironhide's actually awfully kind that way--"_

"_No, no, not what I meant. I want to know why you're so determined to be a shooter."_

"…_Oh. Well, I…you all have done so much for me already. Especially you. You in particular, sir…I just want to pay you back somehow."_

"_Don't."_

"_Don't what?"_

_He placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arms' length. He immediately missed the warmth of her lithe body, but he had a point to make. "Don't refer to me as 'lord' and 'sir' and whatnot. It's too unfamiliar. Like you don't know me. Like I don't know you. And that's not true, is it?"_

_Aerith jumped slightly when he pressed forward, and her back hit the wall with a soft thump. She looked up at him cautiously, locking his deep blue optics with her own. He lifted one hand to softly caress her face, and she shivered lightly. She couldn't hide her fear at being touched. Especially by the commander…by such a large, strong, overwhelmingly powerful mech. However, instead of backing off like he normally did, Optimus soldiered on, coming so close that their chests touched. She gasped when her permanently injured spark abruptly writhed in its casing, desperate for his. He dipped his head to softly nuzzle the side of her face, enjoying the excitement in his own spark._

"_Please," he begged softly, his hands drawing her hips against his. "Don't speak to me as if I were a stranger, Aerith. It tears me apart. I don't _want_ to be a stranger to you. If I had my way, I'd be yours…your sparkmate, eternally and unchangingly…but since that can't happen, I'll settle for being your personal slave, if you'd like."_

_She giggled, warming to his touch. "How did you get to slave from sparkmate?"_

"_Is there a difference?" he asked, and she laughed. He purred contentedly at the soft sound, snuggling closer to the femme. To his great surprise, her arms wound around his neck, pulling him more firmly against her frame. She nestled her head between his neck and shoulder armor, nuzzling him softly, lovingly, finally treating him like the sparkmate they knew he was truly meant to be. He smiled and encompassed his beloved completely in his arms, fitting her small body against his. She tugged on him with a small moan, and he lifted her carefully, cradling her bridal-style against his chest. _

"_Spend the night with me?" he offered quietly, speaking into her audio receptor. The husky tone of his voice made her thighs clench, and wild desire fluttered in her spark. "I told you already…the view is so much better…"_

"_I don't doubt it," she murmured, entranced with the warmth of his powerful chest. "I rather like the view here, too…"_

_He leaned in, biting softly into her neck wiring, and she gasped, arching slightly in his arms. He knelt down, setting her on her aft, and abruptly held her against the wall, his mouthplates probing her throat. She moaned and writhed at his touch, panting slightly. His hands were digging into her sensitive circuitry, his fingers moving over the curves of her body in slow, deliberate caresses. _

"_Ah…ahh…O-Optimus," she whimpered, her back arching slightly. It was incredible how he already seemed to know exactly how she liked to be touched, what to do to ignite in her the desire for him…the same hot, suffocating desire he felt for her. Their sparks were screaming against their chestplates, desperate to be united…_

"_Optimus," she whispered, shaking as he coaxed her legs around his waist._

"_Mmm?" he moaned lightly, his hand stroking her hip in a sensual caress._

"_It won't get you anything…I can't give you my spark, you know that…"_

"_It's alright," he growled, a soft whirr signaling the boot up of his interface systems. "Whether our sparks are bonded is of no consequence. True, I'd prefer it if they were, but…there's something rather enchanting about not having all of you. Gives me something to chase…"_

"…_Can we go to your quarters?"_

"_Mm," he confirmed, wrapping his arms around her and rising to his feet. She shivered, tightening her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders. She was so small in comparison to the mech. "It's starting to get cold in here."_

_He felt her beginning to doze off in his arms as he carried her to his quarters, and he chuckled, shifting her into a more comfortable position in his embrace. The poor femme really was worn out. Eh, he could wait for their joining…_

_After all, they had forever…_

"Optimus? Hey, Boss 'Bot…Prowl's lookin' for ya."

Optimus Prime grunted and rolled over, batting wearily at the finger that incessantly poked his helm. "Go 'way…"

"But then Prowl would eat me," Jazz argued, jabbing a bit harder. "Optimus, ya gotta wake up…do I need to get Ironhide in here?"

"Aft shaft. Fragger. Go to Pit…"

"I'm going to pretend that's the recharge program talking and forget all about it. Next time I might not be so kind. So let's get up, okay? The sooner I get back to my shift, the sooner I can get off tonight. Can you believe that Prowl? He said I had to wake you up on my own time…but it was his order! The nerve of some people…okay, time to resort to more drastic measures."

Optimus started awake as he was abruptly shoved off of the recharge berth, landing with a hard thud upon the floor. He howled in surprise, angrily tussling with the thermal blankets, which had been forcibly dragged down with him. He struggled to stand, having every intention of strangling his special operations officer, but the blankets snagged on his legs and he hit the ground once more.

"Well, I can't see how my life is any immediate danger with your blankie on your legs," Jazz sniggered, peering over the edge of the berth to watch Optimus struggle with the coverings. "But since I really do need to get back to my shift, I'll just be leaving now. Go talk to Prowl, okay?"

"Just wait 'till I get my hands on you--!"

Jazz laughed, turning on his heel and striding towards the door. "See ya later, Boss 'Bot--I'll buy ya a drink later, m'kay?"

"JAZZ! No--come back here!"

Optimus dropped his head to the floor with a snarl as the saboteur skipped from the commander's quarters, laughing brightly. Prime shuttered his optics, inhaling deeply. He had been having such a nice dream…it had been a long time since he had dreamt of his Aerith. Hesitant, he lifted himself to peek at the berth, and found it as devoid of a partner as always. He sighed heavily and stood, plopping his aft down on the edge of the bunk. He absently patted the headrest, almost as if he could still imagine her helm resting there. He desperately missed his sweet little femme. He missed her comforting presence when he returned to their little apartment in Iacon, tired from work and the commute to base. He missed snuggling with her on the couch, staring at the television with slightly glazed optics. He missed the life they had had together; a lifestyle that almost made them feel like a normal couple. Just twocivilians, free of rebel attacks and reports and practice in the firing range, left only to discuss the day's trials and errors, free to love like they had nothing but one another to lose.

But Optimus and Aerith had only been able to fool one another--and themselves--for so long.

Because reality had eventually caught up to them.

Optimus sighed, shaking his head to rid it of such thoughts. It wasn't unusual for him to mourn Aerith as he drifted into recharge, but he tried to avoid thinking about her death during the day; and dwelling on the loss of his beloved was not a good way to start his shift, in any case, especially since Prowl seemed to be somewhat irate with him. If he'd sent Jazz--who was, with all affection, not one of the most responsible or prompt mechs on the team--perhaps Optimus would have to consider approaching the rec room with Ironhide for cover from the ornry second in command.

He stripped out of his armor and showered down briefly. He scowled; the solvent was brutally cold. If everyone else had already hosed down, he really _was_ up late. He walked from the cleaning room, shaking himself off and sending drops of solvent splattering across the walls.

"Oh, geez--Optimus, people walking here!"

The commander froze and glanced over his shoulder to find a dripping wet Chromia wiping cleaning fluid from her optics.

"Oh, frag," he muttered, unable to keep the grin off of his face. "I'm sorry, Chromia…that was inconsiderate of me."

"You bet your aft it was! For the love of Primus…" she pushed past him, still mumbling irritably. "What the Pit has got you so distracted, anyway?"

"…Oh. Well, that, um, I…" he stammered out, his spark clenching painfully in his chest. "Just…reflecting, and…"

Chromia glanced over her shoulder at him and nodded, understanding. "One of those kinds of memories, huh? Okay, you're forgiven. But to avoid angering another femme, you may want to consider this new invention. It's called a towel."

"Sure," he laughed, moving to catch up with her. "Where are you off to?"

"The rec room, duh," she snorted, stretching widely and accidentally-on-purpose whacking him in the face. "Gah…if I get any lower on energy I swear I'm gonna offline right here…and you had better carry me to the med bay if I do!"

"Ha ha…I'm sure Red Alert would _love _to see you at this hour…"

"Oh yeah…maybe I shouldn't go in so early…oh well, the sooner I get some energon the sooner we can stop worrying about that, so move your aft, gay bot."

"Oh! Um, of course…coming."

* * *

Elita One inhaled and exhaled deeply through her vents. Never before had she been so nervous standing outside her mate's door. Her processor instantly replayed the image of Optimus's torn and leaking head, his energon on the floor…Elita shook her head hard, ridding it of such thoughts. It was her fault Optimus got hurt to begin with. She had to make things right again, no matter the cost. Taking a moment to calm her spark, she knocked on his door. 

No response. Gathering her courage, she knocked again; louder this time. Still, no reaction was forthcoming.

"I know you're in there," she ground out, placing her hands on her hips. "You can't sulk forever, you know? I understand you're upset, but you have to face life at some point or another! You're acting just like a sparkling, hiding in your room like this…what would Optimus say? He'd be embarrassed, that's what! He'd probably walk in there and drag you out, whiny aft and all!"

"Go away," the angsty mech growled from inside the room.

"No," she said flatly, hammering on the door again. "I'll come in there myself and deactivate you if I have to, as long as you get out of this room at some point this vorn! You haven't shown your sorry face since Optimus took off!"

"And you are so worried about me because _why_?"

She sighed, resting her foreplates against the door. "Megatron, I've always worried about you. I've always cared. Optimus never changed that. No one could. I…I l-love you. I thought you _knew _that by now."

"…You just stammered."

"Anyone would stammer, dumb aft!" she snapped, kicking the door. "That's kind of a big thing to confess!"

"But you've confessed it before."

"That doesn't make it any easier!"

"I didn't stammer when I confessed to you," Megatron said coyly, and she could just see his arrogant smirk in her processor.

"That's because you probably alternated practicing on Optimus and a mirror," Elita taunted, smiling. She heard the thud of heavy feet, and the door abruptly opened, sending her stumbling forward slightly.

"I never practiced on Optimus!" Megatron blurted, steaming.

"So what about the mirror?" Elita asked lightly, straightening and smiling innocently up at her mech. He choked, clearly struggling for words.

"I…um…well…"

"You're stammering," she noted, her grin widening, and he snapped his jaw shut, glaring down at her. They stood frozen for a few moments before his face abruptly relaxed, and he smiled slightly.

"Guilty as charged," he sighed. "What do you want, femme?" he added teasingly.

"We need to talk," she said deftly, crossing her arms.

"I agree," he nodded.

"And I need to apologize…"

"I second that."

"As do you."

"What did I do?!" he yelped. "I wasn't running around with some other femme! I wasn't making out with,say, Chromia!"

"Yeah, I know. 'Hide would have killed you," Elita replied airily, waving a hand in dismissal. "Anyway. Can I come in?"

Megatron nodded and stepped back, allowing his femme entry to his quarters. She stepped in and whistled, looking around. "Primus. Someone was having an episode."

Megatron flinched. "I was sort of…upset."

"No slag, Quintesson," she agreed, striding over to his berth and leaning over to observe the stripped wall. "Prowl's gonna expect you to pay for all this."

"Prowl is with the armada at the moment, heading for Nebulon," Megatron replied smoothly, closing his door. Then his tone turned serious, and his voice lowered. "Why did you kiss Optimus?"

Elita glanced over at him, the guilt apparent in her face. "I guess I was upset too," she admitted quietly, straightening to face him.

"Was it something I did?"

"Yes, actually," she replied easily, and he cringed. "Megatron, why haven't you ever asked me to bond with you?"

He blinked, clearly taken aback. "Bond? With you? I…I never really thought you'd want to."

"Why's that?"

"Well…I…I don't know. You're so independent, Lita…I thought having a sparkmate would make you feel restrained. And I didn't want to initiate an invitation, then put you in a position where you'd feel like you had to accept to protect me…"

She groaned and rolled her optics. Chromia was right. Mechs _were_ clueless. "Megatron, listen to me," she said gently, coming close to him and taking her hands in his. "The purpose of a sparkbond is not to own another. It is not to provide a crutch for another. The whole point of a sparkbond is to simply share life with someone else, divide and thus double your joy. There's nothing restraining or lonely about it. Bonded sparks are probably the freest of all."

"…So had I asked…?"

"I would have bonded with you, yes," she confirmed, and shame and disappointment writhed in his optics. "But then things started to change, Megatron. I couldn't be sure of your feelings anymore."

"How?" he asked incredulously. "I told you I loved you all the time!"

"Only before we were about to interface!" she said in exasperation, and he froze, thinking back. The truth began to dawn on him.

"You felt like a pleasure bot?" he asked softly, and she dropped her gaze from his, nodding slowly. Her throat constricted painfully, and tears abruptly welled in her optics. Sighing, Megatron moved forward, pulling his femme into his arms. "It's your turn to listen now, alright?" he said quietly, rubbing her back. "I never meant to hurt you, Lita. I never meant for you to feel like less than my lover. I want you to be my equal. I want to bond with you, and I want to do it right. I'm sorry for making you feel the way you did. You could have told me to rip my interface cable off…I would have done it, you know."

She looked up at him and smiled slightly. "Rip it off."

"Hold on a second, let's be rational," he said immediately, his optics sparking in panic. "Let me rephrase that--I would have done it with good reason! With good reason, okay? But I already apologized, so--please don't make me rip it off."

She giggled and snuggled close to him, rubbing her cheek against his chestplates. "Don't worry. I won't."

He sighed his relief and hugged her, resting his chin on her head. "You're short."

"Shut up."

"Reeeeeally short."

"You will die in seven orns."

"So you felt dejected?"

"Mm-hmm."

"That still doesn't explain why you kissed Optimus."

She exhaled loudly, frustrated. Was there no way to make him see? "I needed comfort, okay? I was confused and lonely and I just needed someone to make the hurt go away."

"But why _Optimus_?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "He's kind. He's warm. He understands what it means to feel pain. And he's my best friend, next to Chromia. He would have figured out that I was upset sooner or later. Besides," she craned her head to look at Megatron, smiling shyly, "since I'm so drawn to your spark, it would only make sense that I'd be drawn to his."

Megatron snorted and pressed her face back into his chest armor, nuzzling her lovingly. "Fine. You've convinced me. So you're sorry?"

"Eternally. You?"

"I'm sorry."

"Okay. Since we've both fragged up irreparably badly, can we start over?"

"What do you mean?"

"Go back to square one," she replied, stepping away and smiling brightly. "Pretend like none of it ever happened. Start over and build our relationship right this time."

"Well, I…"

"You're a timid one, aren't you?" she giggled, holding her hand out to him. "I'm Elita One. Nice to meet you."

"Elita…"

"That's what I said."

He blinked at the femme who stood before him, her hand still waiting patiently to be joined with his. A smile tugged on his lips, and he reached out to her, clutching her fingers in his. "Elita…such a lovely name. I wish mine were as satisfactory. I am Lord Megatron. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

* * *

"And then this renegade commander, like, _throws_ Optimus, right? So the Boss does this awesome kinda twist in midair and--" 

"Jazz! For the love of Pit, tell a new story!" Optimus snapped, entering the rec room behind Chromia. "We've all heard it a thousand times before, and it changes with every retelling!"

"But nothing interesting has happened recently," Jazz pouted, looking over at his leader. "And if the story is always changing, that means people will keep coming back to hear it, right?"

Optimus rolled his optics and moved to the serving table, activating the energon churner. It gurgled. Scowling, he pressed a few random buttons. The machine spluttered and emitted a sort of sludgy material.

"Frag, is it being a glitch again?" Springer asked, coming over to assist his already irritable commander. "Ya gotta hit it, like this…"

While the Triple Changer slapped the side of the machine, the doors slid open once more, this time heralding a rather drowsy looking Prowl.

"Good morning," Optimus greeted him as the second in command joined them at the table. "What was it that you needed me for earlier?"

Prowl looked at him drowsily, blinking blearily. "I didn't need you for anything," he replied, looking confused.

Optimus stared. "But…Jazz said…he woke me up because you needed to see me for something…"

"I just got up, I haven't even spoken to Jazz since about a half orn ago," Prowl said, shaking his head as Springer proceeded to throw the churner in frustration. "That'll come out of your paycheck, by the way."

"Oh, slag," Springer muttered, scrambling to reassemble the hapless machine.

Optimus, meanwhile, had proceeded to chase the yelping Jazz around the room, roaring that he was going to feed the saboteur to the Dinobots, drown him, rip his limbs off, throw him into a pit of Sharkticons, and _then_ kill him.

"So what are we doing, exactly?" Jetfire piped up from his reclined spot on the couch.

"Huh?" Starscream yawned lazily.

"I mean, why'd we set off on this big deepspace mission?" the scientist reiterated, looking to a grumpy Ironhide for an answer that was more satisfactory than "Huh".

"Ya came along on this mission without knowin' what it was abou'?" Ironhide asked, lifting an optic ridge.

"Starscream and I have impulsiveness and that funny chemical that gives us mechly urges on our side," Jetfire quipped. "So seriously, what are we doing?"

"There's been a serious rebel movement against us on Nebulon," Chromia stated, grabbing Optimus by the audio receptor as he ran past and pulling him onto the couch with a snarled "Behave".

"On Nebulon?" Starscream frowned. "If it's way out there on Nebulon, why are we concerning ourselves with it?"

"Because the rebels out there have access to the Quintessons' technology--which, as you should know, Starscream and Jetfire, far surpasses our own," Optimus replied, scowling reproachfully at Chromia, who hissed back. Frightening femme. "Who knows what sort of weaponry and armament they could get their grubby little hands on?"

"True," Starscream mused, nodding. "So we go out, crush this rebellion, and go home?"

"Not quite," Optimus replied, shaking his head. "The rebels on Nebulonn possess an army with five hundred count."

A shocked silence followed his nonchalant statement. Even Ironhide's optics were wide.

"And how many do we have?" Jetfire choked out.

"As soon as the battleships _Genesis _and _Affinity_ catch up with us, we'll have approximately two hundred," Optimus said calmly. All optics turned to Prowl, who scowled.

"I didn't authorize this," he grumbled.

"But--but that's insane!" Starscream said, somewhat hysterically. "The guidelines of warfare indicate that the offensive party should have at least three times the count of the defense; we have less than half!"

"I know that," Optimus said, meeting the scientist's worried optics with calm blue orbs.

"So what the Pit are you thinking?!" Starscream screeched, living up to his name, not for the first time.

"I am confident we can win," Optimus replied, smiling slightly behind his mask. "We are highly trained combative soldiers. We are experienced. We know weaponry, we know strategy, and we know teamwork like no other force in the universe. We are an incredible combination of brains, brawn, and sheer determination. We possess calm processors and phenomenal power. Against a rowdy bunch of rebels who have had no prior training, I believe with all of my spark that we will triumph. Besides, I have a gut feeling about this. And I never second-guess my instincts."

"Which is why you make such a lousy fragging tactician," Prowl snapped. "You should have come to me about this plan of yours."

"Don't worry, I discussed it with someone," Optimus replied brightly. "He completely approved of my strategy."

"And who did you discuss it with?" Prowl asked stiffly.

"Alpha Trion," Optimus Prime said lightly.

Another shocked silence ensued. Prowl's face blanked; Jetfire and Starscream's filled with absolute ecstasy. Ironhide blinked uncomprehendingly, but his sparkmate gasped softly.

The scientists exploded.

"ALPHA TRION?!"

"THE SCIENTIST?"

"_THE_ SCIENTIST?!"

"Yes, actually," Optimus replied, surprised. "You've heard of him?"

"HEARD OF HIM?"

"_HEARD OF HIM_?!"

"WE WORSHIP HIM!"

"HE'S OUR HERO!"

"THE PHILOSOPHER, THE INCREDIBLE ALCHEMIST, HIS EXPERIMENTS ARE--"

"--PHENOMENAL!"

"HIS TEST RESULTS ARE FRIGHTENINGLY DETAILED AND ACCURATE, AND HE PRODUCES THEM WITH ABSOLUTELY NO BACKGROUND KNOWLEDGE!"

"HE PERFORMED THE FIRST SUCCESSFUL TRANSMUTATION OF METAL INTO ANTI-MATTER WHEN HE WAS _STILL IN THE ACADEMY_!"

"MOST IMPORTANTLY--"

"MOST IMPORTANTLY--"

"_HE WAS THE FIRST SCIENTIST TO SYNTHETICALLY PRODUCE A LIVING SPARK!"_

"Stop yelling," Prowl grumped, rubbing his audio receptors, but the scientists were beside themselves.

"How do you know him, Optimus?!"

"Um, old family friend…"

"You're kidding!"

"That's amazing!"

"Do you think you could introduce us?!"

"I suppose I could try…he's a rather busy mech…"

"Hold on, back up," Chromia interrupted. "He synthetically produced a spark?"

"Three, actually," Jetfire replied, grinning widely. "Two mechs, who were twins, and one little femme. The mechs were passed into a family to be raised, but Trion, for whatever reason, raised the femme himself. No one ever found out her name, and she disappeared at the same time he did. But there's a rumor that the twins survived; they're probably about our age if they really are alive."

"Hey, wait," Starscream said suddenly, whirling around. "Optimus, your family must have known Trion before he disappeared! What was the femme's name?!"

Optimus hesitated, teetering between the truth and a lie. He settled for the gray area in between. "I-I don't know. We were never introduced, and the adults rarely spoke of her."

Starscream's face fell, visibly disappointed. "Oh. Well, I suppose that can't be helped. I was hopeful, though…ah, well, it's still incredible! Let me shake your hand, Boss…"

"I heard she was beautiful, though," Optimus said suddenly, smiling. "The femme, I mean. Father and Mother used to say she must have been the most enchanting creature on the face of Cybertron. When I was little I thought about her all the time…I imagined what she must look like. I used to dream about what it would be like to be in love with her. I was such a child," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I romanticized her so thoroughly she eventually became like a fairytale to me. She was to me as Primus is to everyone else; something so incredible I hardly dared to believe she could be real."

"But she _does_ exist, doesn't she?" Jetfire put in worriedly. "She and the twins are really living, breathing beings, right?"

"Of course," Optimus replied. "No one knows who they are, but…they're out there. I'm sure of it."

* * *

_Time passed as only time could. _

_Optimus Prime's forces, aboard the battle ships _Affinity, Genesis, _and _Hiatus, _landed on Nebulon and waged war against the growing rebel forces there. The rebels' leader, who christened himself Bloodlust, had amassed more forces than was originally predicted by Cybertron's soldiers. Optimus Prime and his troops periodically pulled out of Nebulon to regroup on nearby moons and send for back-up from Cybertron, which Lord Megatron quickly supplied. He and Elita One reestablished and strengthened their relationship…_

_And six deca-cycles after the departure of Optimus Prime, they were bonded._

_Optimus Prime took the news in stride. He congratulated them happily, but it was clear to those closest to him, namely Chromia and Ironhide, what turmoil the news sent his spark into. Yet another lover had been lost to him in the tide of life._

_I, Alpha Trion, watch over them in silence. I watch the Twins, Optimus and Megatron, and I watch my own beloved "daughter", Elita One. I am incredibly confused by the turn of events; I had intended for Elita and Optimus to bond. But then again, I suppose I have no control over the desires of her spark…but was there not a time when she desired Optimus Prime above every other material creature in the very universe? _

_Perhaps my error was not derived from a misunderstanding of the spark…perhaps it was a result of my inability to understand femmes. _

_Of course, this is not the first time my predictions have varied greatly from the actual turnout of reality's events. Not so long ago, Optimus took a femme by the name of Aerith as his lover. A deficiency in her spark prevented them from bonding, but perhaps that was for the best in the end…she was eventually killed by rebel forces when she was corrupted and injected with a multitude of viruses._

_This is where my guilt begins concerning my childrens' lives. Optimus came to me when he learned Aerith was dying. He begged me to help her, save her…_

_And although I had every antivirus she could possibly need, I told him there was nothing I could do. And so arrived the only day I saw my child weep. I believe he cried until the sharp agony in his spark had been reduced to a dull ache. My own spark cried with him. But not for Aerith. My spark twisted in agony because I was writhing in my own guilt…I wanted things to go as I had planned. I wanted Elita and Optimus to bond. I wanted the game to be played the way I intended. I wanted Order to be restored the way I intended. In my spark, I saw Aerith, the femme my "son" loved, as a pawn of Chaos._

_I did not save her, and thus I plunged my beloved mech into darkness so absolute I thought he would never be saved. I was hopeful for awhile that he had found refuge in Elita One, but Chaos made yet another crippling move when it allowed Megatron to see their tender moment that day…and now, I have begun to believe that there may be no hope left at all…_

_Unless…_

* * *

Optimus Prime staggered back, trying desperately to avoid the swinging blade axe of a very deranged rebel leader. 

"That's right--run, you pathetic excuse for a commander!" Bloodlust drawled, swinging his axe wildly. "Try and escape me if you can! Heh heh heh…run as fast as you can!"

The side of the axe caught Optimus across the helm, and froze for a moment, dazed. The world spun around him, making him sick to his tanks. He blinked blearily, feeling his knees hit the ground with a painful jolt. He stared up, seeing large figure come towards him, raising something above its head. His spark screamed at him to move, but his disoriented processor released only a very garbled string of orders to his body. Optimus frowned--move? Move where? How? Why? What was wrong with just kind of sitting here?

His head throbbed, and he moaned out loud. He hadn't meant to, but it _hurt_. He clutched his head, whimpering as it throbbed again, sending little spasms of pain through his entire body. Some corner of his confused processor realized that his nerve relay center had been hit, but the rest of him didn't care at the moment--he just really, _really_ wanted the pain to stop.

The world lurched and toppled over itself--someone had hit his helm again. Optimus moaned, dropping onto his side, his optics flickering on and off. He couldn't see…his head throbbed and ached, so painfully this time that he cried out…he moved his head and squinted up…Bloodlust was lifting something…when he raised it above his head, Nebulon's weak sun caught the end, illuminating the drops of golden energon on the end…

Optimus's spark screamed when Bloodlust swung the axe downwards. His processor sprang into high gear, its survival mechanisms kicking in, but his nerve relay center could only send garbled neural messages into his body.

It was Ironhide who saved him. Ironhide who leapt in the axe's path, seeing no other way to assist his disabled commander. It was Ironhide's energon that spilled across the ground, Ironhide's armor that splintered and tore as the axe ripped into it. The second he was free of the weapon, Ironhide released a roar and leapt upon Bloodlust, tearing into every inch of mech he could find. Optimus blinked weakly, finding his vision abruptly obscured by leaking energon. He slowly lifted a hand and felt the side of his head; his helm had been ripped open.

Another hand abruptly touched his wound, and the young leader jerked violently.

"Nerve relay center's been virtually destroyed," Red Alert reported to Jetfire and Perceptor, who crouched beside him. "Optimus, can you hear me? Can you see me?"

"…Ratchet?" Optimus mumbled dizzily, the medic's true designation lost within a very addled processor. "Where's 'Hide?"

"Ironhide's fine," Red Alert assured his leader softly, leaning over to carefully pry away Optimus's ruined head armor around the wound. "Just hold still for me, okay?"

"Okay," Optimus replied woozily, blinking at the horizontal world around him. "Where's Megatron?"

"He's fine, Optimus, he's just fine," Red Alert said helplessly. Jetfire and Perceptor exchanged a glance.

"What's he talking about?" Jetfire hissed to the medic.

"His processor's just been knocked out, Jet, even he doesn't know what he's talking about," Red Alert replied, frustrated. "Perceptor, finish this, would you? Realign his wire configuration, and stop the leakage. I don't know what to do about his nerve relay, we'll have to work on that later. I have to get to Ironhide, he's gonna die on us."

"Yes, sir," Perceptor replied solemnly, bending over his young commander. "Please hold still, Optimus."

"Gotcha," the leader replied, his optics seemingly unable to focus on anything for more than a brief moment or two. Jetfire shook his head slowly; he couldn't imagine life getting any crazier than this.

Seemed that reality was taking a rain check.

* * *

**None of you expected Alpha Trion to be my bad guy, didja? Mua ha ha...**

**Okay, so Optimus is concussed, Ironhide's probably dead, Alpha Trion is planning to bend reality to his own will, and Elita and Megatron are bonded...do I know how to prepare a cliffy or do I know how to prepare a cliffy?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_Plenoptic_

**Here we go…chapter six already? Man, it's flyin…I'm at a bit of a rut in New Beginnings, so I figured I'd work on this for a bit…I'll probably kick it into high gear after this chappie, tho.**

**I delighted in every plot twist I was able to work into the last chapter. It was so much fun! Alpha Trion is the bad guy, Optimus is concussed, Ironhide is dead (?), and MEGATRON AND ELITA ARE BONDED. I'm going to have a lot of fun with that last one, actually…mua ha ha ha ha.**

**As one reviewer mentioned, Megatron seems very glompable, does he not? I figured that since he was raised amongst mechs that cared for him, there was no way he could grow up to be an evil dictator…there had to be steps along the way. A lot of readers have mentioned that his descent into darkness has been a result of Elita's betrayal, but somehow I don't think Elita could live with herself if she knew she was the cause of this war, and she wouldn't do anything to jeopardize Cybertron's already shaky situation. So other aspects will come into play regarding Megatron's most drastic transformation.**

**Anyway…on we go! Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**

* * *

**Pre Cybertronian War**

**Data relay interrupted: Satellite passing unknown**

**Current: Lord Megatron (political), Commander Optimus Prime (militia)**

It was the monotone groans of his computer that awoke Cybertron's leader that morning, leaving him to grumble and whine until his exhausted, irate sparkmate opted to shove him out of bed.

"Go answer it," she snapped in response to his protests. "I don't have to go on shift for another half joor at least, and I have no intention of getting up before then. Primus, who on Cybertron is calling at this hour?"

"They're not _on_ Cybertron," Megatron replied, opening the intergalactic link fast. His computer wired through to his comm link, connecting him with the voice he'd been yearning to hear. "Optimus?"

"Hiya, Megsy."

The Cybertron lord moaned and sank back onto the recharge berth, cupping his head in his hands. "Thank Primus…why didn't you contact me sooner! I've been worried to my tanks, you buttwad! For the love of Cybertron…what's going on over there? Are you injured?"

"I took a hit to my nerve relay center--oh, don't sound so horrified, loser--but Red Alert says I'll be good to go here in about a half orn, provided nothing else comes up," Optimus Prime's voice replied. The distance made the baratone sound like a whacked out radio; his voice came in and out erratically. "I'm angry with you, by the way."

Megatron blinked. "With me? What did I do?"

"You've become a real mech now, I suppose."

There was a confused silence, but then Megatron laughed. "What, because I've bonded and you haven't?"

"Good job, monkeybot, you're not as dumb as you look. How's it working out, anyway?"

Megatron hesitated. He knew his brother was trying to act as if none of it bothered him in the least. He knew Optimus was trying to approach the whole matter in a civilized, mature way. But there was no mistaking the bitterness he felt in his brother's spark when the fact that Megatron and Elita were bonded was brought up. There was no mistaking the brief moment of pain when the reality that he couldn't have the femme he loved hit home. So how on Cybertron was Megatron to answer this question without inflicting further pain upon his beloved sibling?

"Look, I know you didn't call to inquire about that," Megatron replied shortly, trying to make up for the obvious delay he'd made in their so-called conversation. "Tell me what's happening. What do you need, what's the strategy looking like?"

Elita groaned from behind him, rolling over and curling into the thermal blankets. Great. Another precious half joor of freedom, and she would be spending it listening to mechs gossip about ripping the entrails out of one another. Beeeautiful. 

"In the simplest of terms, we got our afts handed to us on gold platters," Optimus replied darkly. "Yeah, not silver--gold. They had tons of mechs out there, Megatron, we were slaughtered."

"I thought this plan was Trion-approved."

"Well, Trion was wrong," Optimus replied shortly, and a long silence followed his statement. Alpha Trion was never wrong. It simply didn't happen.

"What do you need?" Megatron asked quietly. "More troops? Funds?"

A rush of static signaled Optimus's frustrated sigh. "Megs, I'm out for the count. Even after my processor comes back one hundred percent, it still has to realign with my body networks. I have to reboot a lot of information. I need a sub-commander, and I need one fast. Prowl's good, he's bloody brilliant, but he just doesn't have the battle experience it takes, you know?"

"…A sub-commander?"

"Yeah, someone who, for the love of Primus, knows what he's doing."

Megatron considered. An idea sprang into his processor--a certain handsome face, a certain taunting laugh, a certain cocky sort of smirk. The lord's tanks gurgled in apprehension. As it so happened, he had a sub-commander on hand, but he couldn't help but feel that Optimus was not going to like his decision. What the Autobots waging battle on Nebulon really needed was an Optimus Prime in miniature--someone level-headed and calm and charismatic, someone who could make their energon boil with pride and their sparks roar with confidence. It so happened that this particular sub-commander had each and every one of those traits--but only on the battlefield. The second his foot his rec room soil, he was just as bad as the rest--boisterous, loud, obnoxious, and usually a hapless loser. 

Unfortunately, they didn't have many alternatives.

It was Megatron's utter silence that qued Optimus into his brother's line of thinking, and he felt his energon run cold. "…Oh no. No, no, no…Megatron, please, anyone but--"

"We don't really have a choice, Opt."

"No, there has to be another choice! Anyone but _him_! He'll drive me up the wall, Megatron, and my processor is fragged up enough as it is! Please, see if anyone else is up for it!"

"I've already considered, Optimus, we're spread too thin. He can do. He's just like you. You just have to keep him focused, okay?"

"No, Megatron--!"

"Sorry, Optimus, but I'm making the call."

He disconnected the line before his brother could protest further. They really _didn't_ have a choice. There was nothing left to be done…Sighing, Megatron glanced over to find that, despite he and his brother's raving, his sparkmate had fallen into recharge once more. Smiling slightly, he reached out and caressed her cheek. She mumbled distantly and turned her face into his touch.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Megatron sighed, opening his comm link channel. "Sorry, Optimus…"

He made the call.

* * *

Said sub-commander, like Elita, was determined to recharge. He'd been up for nearly a half orn straight, sprinting from one base to another. It seemed that no one could do anything as simple as filing a data pad without his assistance--which wasn't a good thing, because said sub-commander had trouble filing data pads himself. One of the many reasons he was routinely kicked out of the filing room by an irate Prowl. It was also a primary reason he wasn't allowed in Wheeljack's lab (because Primus forbid the mech who routinely blew up his lab should allow such a careless, absent minded sort of fellow into _his_ working space).

Continually poking fun at him, fate and karma teamed up once more to fling a rude awakening at that particular sub-commander, rousing him from what had promised to be a very refreshing recharge.The mech moaned loudly and groped at the small desk beside his berth, grudgingly opening up his comm reciever.

"'Lo?" he mumbled groggily, shuttering his optics. Maybe it was nothing important…maybe he could go back into recharge…

"Rodimus?"

Rodimus Prime moaned loudly--loudly enough that Megatron, on the other end, could hear it very clearly. "Oh no. Primus no. Not the official name. Don't do this to me, Megs, I swear…"

"Listen to me, Rodimus. Optimus needs you on--"

"No, Megatron, no! Don't send me to Nebulon, please, I'm begging you…on my spark, I swear to Primus, don't send me off planet again…see, I'm trying to engage in this thing called recharge…"

"Optimus is out of the game," Megatron snapped, already fed up with the sub-commander's nonchalant attitude. "He took a blow to the head, he's not going to be able to get on his feet again for a half orn at the very least. He can't lead. Red Alert told me via email a few minutes ago that Optimus might not even recover fully. The troops need you, Rodimus, now more than ever. In accepting your position as sub-commander, you also accepted the responsibility! Besides, Optimus trusts you. He believes in you. He cares for you, you're like the son he and Aerith weren't able to have. Please. If not for slagging Cybertron, for the mech who's raised you since sparklinghood! Rise up to the challenge for once in your life, Rodimus!"

The sub-commander sighed, rubbing his nasal plates. "Alright, alright. Way to play the guilt wagon, Megatron. Now I feel like total trash. Happy?"

"I just really want your aft out of the berth and in the shuttleport in a joor, okay? And I'll go as far as to blame you for planetary warming if it gets you up faster, you know I will."

"Sure, sure…I'll be ready, okay? I'm getting up now, thanks for the call. Byas."

He closed the comm link before his superior could shoot back a reply. Rodimus really did have every intention of getting up and ready, but the gentle arm that wrapped around his waist prevented him from doing so. He started and looked over his shoulders, but relaxed when he recognized his partner.

"Why, hello there," he rumbled, slowly lowering himself back onto the berth to meet Arcee's illustrious blue optics. "Did you sneak in here in the middle of the night? What a naughy little kitten…"

Arcee said nothing, snuggling closer and burying her face into his shoulder. Her arms tightened around him, and he could have sworn he heard her hiccup softly. Rodimus's spark churned painfully, and he rolled onto his side, propping himself on an elbow.

"Hey, baby, don't cry," he soothed quietly, cupping her chin in one hand and tilting her head back to meet his gaze. "Shh, it's gonna be okay. I'll be back soon, it'll be like an astrosecond. And then you know what? I'll take you out of here, we'll go into the quietest little suburb we can find, on the other side of the fragging planet, just the two of us. No more last minute missions, no more taking on four or five shifts at a time…it'll just be you and me, babe, I swear."

She shook her head slowly, reaching up to touch his face. "Rodimus, you know it won't happen like that."

"I'll make it happen," he retorted firmly, pressing his forehead to hers. "Primus, baby, I swear I'll make it happen however you want it to. Just trust me, okay?"

She choked back a sob and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, burying her face into his neck plates. "It happened to Optimus--it could happen to you, too," she whispered, clutching her lover as a sparkling clutched its mother. "What if you get hurt? I'll fall apart, Rodimus, I won't be able to make it…"

"It's not like I've never been injured," he whispered, cradling his femme in his arms. "Arcee, they're only armor wounds. They heal, and then I'll be right back here. Hey, hey, look at me. It's gonna be okay. You mark my words, baby face, it's gonna be okay."

She drew back to peer into his optics, searching for the truth she so craved. She knew Rodimus would never lie to her, never hurt her…if he said it was going to be okay, it would be. 

One large hand lifted to softly stroke her face, and she leaned into his touch, enraptured by her lover's incredible presense. Rodimus pulled her close, enjoying the feel of the femme's curvaceous body against his own. He loved his girl, he downright adored her. He wanted to give her everything, make her smile and laugh, make her the happiest femme on the face of the planet. It was a pity his career kept getting in the way.

Rodimus eased her onto her back, positioning himself above her, his optics on fire. There was no questioning what this femme meant to him. There was no uncertainty in her processor when it came to what he wanted for them. He wanted them to bond, he wanted to make Arcee his own, and he wanted her to own him in turn. And she knew she loved him, this mech meant worlds to her…but…

His hand softly cupped her breastplate, and his mouth closed over hers, his glossa coaxing her lips to open to him. She kissed him hard, her arms slipping beneath his to clutch at his shoulders from behind. 

Rodimus purred, pulling his femme in closer. He didn't need to hold back. After all, he had an entire joor… 

* * *

"Forgive my rudeness, Commander, but the Council would very much like to know just what on Cybertron you were thinking! Good Primus on high, taking a few hundred troops into battle against what escalated into near thousands! Not only was it brash and immature on _your _part, Optimus Prime, but your tactician gave you permission to engage in such a conflict! Furthermore, not once was an offensive maneuver of this nature authorized by the Coun--"

High Councilor Epsilon broke off at the awful retching sound behind him, and turned to find Optimus Prime leaning over the waste unit, his shoulders heaving as his tanks purged themselves for the millionth time that day. What's more, there wasn't honestly anything left to bring up, leaving the poor commander to choke and splutter for near breems at a time, struggling to control his body until Red Alert was able to arrive with the appropriate sedatives. Epsilon chewed nervously at the wires along the inside of his mouth--a bad habit, incidentally, and at some point or another he knew he'd short a circuit doing it.

"I don't suppose…your medic…can do anything about that?" he implied weakly as Optimus calmed himself, panting slightly.

"Please don't concern yourself with my medical affairs, Councilor," the young commander replied weakly, wiping his mouth and turning, leaning heavily against the rim of the waste unit. He managed a very small smile, hidden though it was behind his battle mask. "Frequent, uncontrollable tank purges are quite common with severe head injuries." A tremor ran through his colossal frame, and he hastened to sink back upon the med bay's berth, the world spinning slightly. 

Red Alert came to his rescue, leaning through the doorway as he passed. "High Councilor, with all due respect," he said pompously, causing the elderly mech to turn a full one eighty degrees once more, "I do, of course, understand the severity of our current predicament, but Optimus is in intensive care at the moment with a serious cranial injury--I would very much appreciate if you did not trouble him with political affairs until he has recovered more fully. Or at least until he can stop puking up his guts," the medic finished flatly, and it was only the lordly mech's presense in the room that stopped Optimus from laughing at loud at the High Councilor's slightly shocked expression. One did not say "puking up _anything's_ guts" in the presense of a Councilor. It was simply not done.

Then again, one also refrained from pestering Ratchet when he was in a bad mood, but Red Alert had done that, too.

"I--I see," Epsilon managed weakly. He turned slowly to face the shaky commander on the berth. "I apologize for the inconvenience, Sir Prime--I certainly did not mean to upset your condition."

"No, Bloodlust did that, thank you," Optimus replied wearily, rubbing his aching head. "I'll try to meet with you again as soon as possible, Councilor--please enjoy the remainder of your stay aboard our ship."

"I'll do just that, I suppose…if you'll excuse me…"

He hurried from the room, still looking somewhat flabbergasted, and Red Alert joined his patient, tutting loudly. 

"You sound just like my mother," Optimus joked weakly, leaning back with the encourgament of the medic's prodding hands. "She used to 'tut' Megatron when we were small…always sneaking some sort of energon goodie, that mech."

Red Alert nodded absently, unwinding the mesh around Optimus's helm to observe the wound (as work still needed to be done, it hadn't been welded yet). The commander had been acting rather peculiar as of late; before the disastrous mission they were still struggling to be free of, Red Alert hadn't heard Prime once mention his family. It was well known, as much as his inner circle had struggled to keep it secret, that Optimus and Megatron had lost their creators� in a rebel raid when both were frighteningly young. Since, neither of the young mechs spoke of their deceased loved ones, although Red Alert assumed that the brothers surely discussed it amongst themselves. Frankly, the medic was surprised Optimus had any recollection of his newling years. Most data files from the first few deca-cycles of life were deleted in favor of more useful info as the bot aged. It seemed that Optimus had made a point of retaining those memories. Well, Pit, goodie-stealing escapades from happier days beat the slag out of long, boring speeches made by some dead guy from ten vorns ago.

"Hey, Red?"

"Mm? What is it?"

"Now that I can walk again and all that…how long do you suppose it'll be before I can get back onto the field?"

Red Alert gazed down at the earnest young commander, at the optics that met his own pleadingly, begging for an answer that would put his spark at ease. The medic sighed, adjusting the split armor so he could better examine the wound. Optimus gritted his dental plates in pain, but refused to utter a sound.

"You're desperately ill, Optimus," Red Alert said at last, absently using a bundle of wiry copper (something like the human equivalent of steel wool) to scrub away a bit of dried energon upon his leader's helm. "That axe put everything out of whack, from your firewalls to your motor functions. You can't protect against viruses, and they're rampant out on the field--we just don't notice because we're immune to most of them."

"So I've adapted some insane sort of virus into my system." Optimus's soft words were not spoken as a question. He knew what the answer was, and he knew what it meant. His days in the military could very well be drawing to a close.

"Insane. Nice understatement," Red Alert replied, and the commander groaned; for some strange reason, he'd been given the impression that Red Alert's bedside manner was gentler than Ratchet's. Apparently not. "You need a specialist to look at you, and we haven't got one on hand--I'm not even sure the Chief could diagnose you properly. Secondly, while it's true that your motor functions are returning to you, it'll be a long time before your reflexes are up to par. Could be vorns, for all I know. Until everything hooks up properly, you'll be slaughtered if you try to go into battle. You just won't be able to move fast enough, you know?"

Optimus nodded slowly, gazing druggedly up at the ceiling (when had Red Alert injected a fragging sedative?). He shuttered his optics, suddenly exhausted, suddenly feeling drained of hope. He was helpless. Here, guarded by steel walls, some seriously bad aft guns, a high tech security system, his most trusted friends and allies, and one stubborn-to-Pit medic, he was safe. Safe as a juevenille commander could ever hope to be. But not even Ratchet, had he been there, could have protected him against whatever murderous, foreign virus ravaged his systems. Optimus sighed quietly, allowing his body to go offline. He needed rest, if nothing else…

* * *

Rodimus Prime arrived late, but payed his inconvenient timing no heed. News of his leader's deteriorating condition reached his unusually keen audios halfway through his trip. So, right after dumping his belongings crate on a hapless lieutenant, Rodimus all but charged into the medical bay, intent upon seeing his mentor.

"Hi there, Roddy," Red Alert said tiredly, looking up when the excitable commander burst into his office, panting heavily. "I thought I'd be seeing you soon."

"Where is he?" Rodimus demanded desperately, his optics laden with grief. "What's wrong with him?"

Optimus's condition had gone from bad to worse in record time. It seemed that Council Epsilon would have to wait a little longer than planned for that meeting. Within a quarter orn of their failed agreement, Optimus abruptly lost virtually all control of his diseased body, rendering him paralyzed and helpless on his very familiar berth. His ventilation systems had all but shut down, leaving only the weak emergency vents in his mouth and down his throat. A clear plastic sort of bubble had been strapped around the bottom half of his face (his mask had been removed), feeding air into his weakening body, forcing him to keep breathing now that he could no longer do it by himself. On the inside, Optimus hated himself for his weak condition; he was seriously so helpless that he could not even _exist_ without the help of a thousand wires and cables and transfer cords into every fragging circuit Red Alert had been able to find!

It was this figure--alone, helpless, and virtually dying--that a previously hopeful Rodimus Prime walked in to. He dismissed Red Alert politely before slowly sinking down into a seat at his leader's side, his optics grudgingly accepting Optimus's still form. 

"Hey there, big guy," he murmured softly, clutching Optimus's large hand in one of his own. "Fraggin' rebels really did a job on you, didn't they? But don't worry…we'll get them…they'll pay for this one, I swear it."

Optimus did not--_could not_--respond, but it was very clear to Rodimus that the leader heard his words. Just because Optimus was offline did not render him an empty shell, a husk of his former self; Rodimus understood, perhaps better than Optimus himself, that one of the few mechs he'd ever looked up to was not restricted by metal armor. Optimus Prime did not exist as a body; he existed as an element of nature, a force of the universe itself, wild, unpredictable, strong, indomitable. 

But…

"Primus, I hate seeing you like this," Rodimus said quietly, gently touching Optimus's helm. The noble blue paint had been chipped and worn away, revealing the bland gray protoform underneath. It didn't suit Optimus at all; the leader's incredible, breath taking appearance came mostly from his own radiant confidence, but the vibrant paint job always made him look so much more like the hero Rodimus felt he was. "Don't worry about a thing, buddy…as soon as you come back to base and Ratchet takes care of ya, Springer and I will fix this paintjob right up…you'll see…"

He trailed off once more, holding Optimus's hand again. The leader still did not respond, both his voice and body immobile, unmoving. 

"They're all missing you back on Cybertron," Rodimus blurted out, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. Perhaps because silence reminded him so much of death. 'Death' and 'Optimus Prime' could not be used together in a logical sentence. It was like adding two hydrogen and one oxygen and making fire. It simply _didn't work_. "Megatron's a wreck, I swear. Hey…he sent _me_, didn't he? That's tribute enough to the fact that he's probably losing his processor, am I right? Ratchet's just a little crankier than normal--never saw _that_ one coming, but it's actually possible, I guess. And Elita…Elita's missing you really bad, Boss, you're her best friend…she and I have actually hung out some, she's a lot cooler than I thought, you know? And guess what? Aside from missing you so bad it hurts, I think she's happy. I think you'd be glad to hear that, cuz I still remember what you told me a little while ago…you know, about…about loving her and all that, and…"

He trailed off. Optimus did not move. 

"Hey," Rodimus whispered, grabbing his leader's shoulder and shaking him gently. "Hey, Optimus, wake up. Please, man, you gotta wake up. Don't do this to us, Optimus, don't do this! We can't pull through this mess without you--you gotta wake up and tell us to 'kick some aft out there' and ya gotta wake up and keep me in line and you've gotta be there for Elita and help us all raise Bumblebee and…and…"

Rodimus stopped talking. And Optimus did not move.

"They're gonna pay," Rodimus hissed quietly, his hand clenching around his fallen leader's. "I swear to Primus--Pit, I swear to Unicron too--they're gonna _pay_ for this. And as soon as I'm done ripping them limb from fragging limb, I'm going to come back for you. And I'm gonna take you back to Cybertron and we are going to rustle up every cred in our nonexistent fund and we're gonna get you help, you got me? You're not gonna die, Optimus, I swear to Primus…

"You're not gonna die…"

* * *

**I love Rodimus. I can't help it. That mech just simply rocks my socks off. BTW--I don't usually wear socks. It's this thing with this character called L in Death Note…He doesn't wear socks, so I don't either. What can I say? I'm a stupid kid.**

**IMPORTANT: I've posted a new poll regarding pairing oneshots for this story, so if you have a chance please take it. I really appreciate it! Thank you!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_Plenoptic_

**My brain is doing spazzes on me--it feels unusually compliant today--so I figured I'd delve right into the next chapter. **

**Here we go. Wonder how Lita's doing…? And we'll also find out a thing or two about Megatron and Optimus's deceased adopted sibling (as opposed to the dead related one. Yes, I am evil). And please remember that Rodimus is filling in as the Commander for awhile.**

**To those of you who don't know what a "woo hoo" is, let me put it in context in the form of a conversation between my friends, Sai and BEE.**

**Sai: Hey, you know what we can call Opi (me) from now on?**

**BEE: What?**

**Sai: Sparky!**

**BEE: …..Uh, why?**

**Sai: Isn't the spark like--you know--the woo hoo?**

**BEE: T.T Uh, no…that's the interface.**

**Sai: O.O**

**(Sai and Opi, later on)**

**Opi: So, yeah….that's the interface. There's a cable for mechs and a port for femmes…**

**Sai: (disgusted) HOW DO YOU KNOW THIS STUFF?! EW, STAY AWAY, YOU PERV! STAY AWAY, SPARKY!!**

**Opi: You're gonna call me Sparky anyway…?**

**Sai: Yup. :D**

**They're the best friends I ever had. :D Love ya, guys!**

**Pre Cybertronian War**

**First Passing of First Satelite **

**Current Leaders: Lord Megatron (political), Commander Rodimus Prime (militia)**

_Megatron sat, stiff and unimposing, amongst his many bodyguards--namely Soundwave, Barricade, Jazz, and Prowl--glaring about at the various Senators that framed the circumference of the vast meeting hall. He also occasionally stuck his glossa out at the four mechs accompanying him--Soundwave and Barricade's girth were attracting a little more attention than was absolutely necessary. _

"_What are you so worried about?" he demanded of Prowl in a low hiss, flexing his fingers upon the seat of his wrought-iron seat. "You don't seriously believe one of these pieces of scrap is going to try to assassinate me?"_

"_Megatron," Prowl said sharply, frowning hard. "Please refer to the Senators more respectfully."_

"_Let's not forget, Prowl, that these are the same Senators who have long been trying to remove Optimus from his position," Megatron fumed quietly, sliding down in his seat and folding his arms over his chest, his lower lip trembling into a pout. Prowl stared at him and shook his head in exasperation; here they were, sitting before the fifty most prestigious mechs on Cybertron, and the young protectorate was acting like a sparkling!_

"_Stop this," Prowl snapped softly, kicking Megatron hard beneath the wide table at which they sat. "I assure you, this behavior is not doing anything for yours or Optimus's reputation. The Senators have already stated that they are uncomfortable with having mechs your age in charge of Cybertron's primary well-being…and this ridiculous display is only justifying their accusations!"_

"_Where's Optimus?" Megatron grumped, completely changing the subject--a bad habit of his that Prowl found rather exhausting._

"_I don't know," the tactician sighed in defeat, also slumping in his seat. "He radioed in about a breem ago, but--"_

"_Prowl," Megatron said sharply, and Prowl glanced over to see the young leader suddenly sitting very upright in his seat, his hands folded gracefully on the table, his face carefully calm and composed. "Please correct your posture, it much look terrible in the optics of our esteemed Senators."_

_Prowl gaped at him for a moment, then sat up slowly with a growl. "You are a sneaky little aft, aren't you?"_

"_Did I really just coax profanity from the noble mouth of our tactician?" Megatron asked in seeming sincerity, but his optics sparkled with mischief. "Goodness, what a clever little beast I am…and speaking of beasts," he added, standing abruptly and striding from around the table, descending the short steps to greet the newcomer who had just entered the room._

_Optimus Prime didn't appear happy--he, like his younger brother, was flanked by several other mechs. His armor swelled around him in his irritation, which Ironhide seemed to find desperately amusing. Perhaps the only thing that had kep Optimus from punching the obnoxious mech right across his smart-aft mouthplates was the sparkling nestled in the commander's arms, chirping around at the delegation of Senators. Many watched her with confusion, and those who knew the brothers well greeted the sparkling with cheerful, spark-felt waves; Megatron managed to not resent those who looked so endearingly upon his baby sister._

"_Well, would you look at that--my two favorite bots in the universe," Megatron quipped, clapping his elder brother on the shoulder. "Ready for Pit, Optimus?"_

"_Assuredly," Optimus replied, placing his own hand on his brother's shoulder. "Good Primus, Soundwave and Barricade? Prowl's not kidding around, is he? He honestly believes these old scrappers are gonna try something!"_

"_Well, this is Prowl we're talking about…and how's the little Princess?" Megatron added, beaming as the sparkling reached out to him, squeaking excitedly. Optimus gently deposited his younger sibling into his brother's arms, where she curled up contentedly, heaving a long yawn. "Hello there, Eclipse. It's been awhile. Did someone miss a nap today?" he added, looking accusingly up at his elder brother, who had been in charge of the sparkling for the past orn. Optimus flinched._

"_I think she might've lost a breem or two--Jet and Screamer were experimenting again, and you know how…excited…they get."_

"_A breem or two?"_

"_Might've been a half joor," Optimus mumbled, scuffing one foot against the other, his optics cast downward. "I lose count sometimes…"_

"_Protectorate, Commander," the head Senator, Epsilon, piped up cautiously. "If my lords are ready, perhaps we can begin our discussion…much has come about our planet, and--"_

"_Yes, yes, of course," Megatron cut in, shifting his sister into a more comfortable position as he seated himself once more. His brother assumed a standing view in the back, ignoring Prowl and Barricade's subtle protests--like Optimus's huge mass would be less of a target when half was hidden beneath a table?_

_-_

_The meeting passed much too slowly for Megatron's liking, and Optimus wasn't in the best of moods by the time it adjourned, either. As the Senators filed out, he stalked forward grumpily and tossed himself gracelessly into the seat beside his brother. _

"_Bunch of bull slag," he growled, then quicky apologized when Megatron furiously indicated the sparkling in his arms. "I mean, __**what a load of silliness**_. _Talking to me like I don't even know how to command my own troops…and how on Cybertron did you manage to stay awake through all that, Eclipse?" he added, taking his baby sister into his lap and tickling her side panels lightly. She giggled wildly, batting helplessly at his relentless hands. _

_Megatron watched his siblings quietly, once again amazed by the smile on his elder brother's faceplates. Optimus usually held such a stern, composed demeanor; but not even the blindest of the Senators leaving the room could mistake the affection on Prime's face for nonchallance. _

_Eclipse wasn't even their real sister. She was kin to them, certainly--another sparkling whose home and family had been lost in a rebel raid. It had been Optimus who had found her, trapped beneath the ruins of a fallen apartment building. The poor child had been clutching the very still form of her mother, her vocalizer long shot--she'd been crying for joors, unable to understand why her mother was offering her no comfort. Megatron knew full well what pain it had caused Optimus to lift the sparkling from her mother's corpse, and the sparkling had very nearly damaged her vocalizer beyond repair in the resulting struggle. Ratchet had been forced to sedate her to avoid such risks. _

_Megatron found even more amazing the fact that Optimus had paid out of his own sub pockets to pay for the proper burial of Eclipse's parents--he'd even had a formal burial for the family's mechanocat alongside the deceased couple. _

_Perhaps, in some incredibly deep way, Eclipse had understood the remorse Optimus felt. Perhaps the tiny sparkling had somehow understood the meaning behind Optimus's actions when he iniciated a proper burial for her parents. She certainly forgave him for separating her from her mother in that destroyed outpost not so long ago._

"_Optimus?"_

_The commander leaned over the railing of the podium, and a smile split his faceplates. He gently deposited his sister to Megatron's arms before hurtling down the small staircase to seize the small blue femme who stood cautiously at the hall's entrance. He kissed her deeply, his arms clutching her petite form to his own massive chassis. Megatron blinked uncertainly, both he and Eclipse leaning over the railing to peer at the femme, the expression on their faces identical. While Eclipse wondered why her big brother was eating the cute femme's face, Megatron looked on at the tender display, perplexed; had Optimus mentioned a mate in his letters?_

_Optimus pulled away from the femme, clutching her hands in his, his optics warm and affectionate as they spoke. Megatron blinked again, shocked--once again, a look of such gentleness Optimus usually reserved specifically for Eclipse. Megatron was surprised enough to see that Optimus had a mate--but to think that his elder brother was truly in love? The protectorate's tanks churned; could he handle raising another sparkling? Whatever--any spawn of his brother was Optimus's responsibility and Optimus's alone. _

_Optimus suddenly jerked a thumb in Megatron's direction, nodding eagerly, and the femme shrank back immediately, her optics terrified. Optimus moved forward, resting his hands on her upper arms, and Megatron made note of the way the femme flinched away from his touch. A few moments passed before the femme seemed to relax enough for Optimus to take her hand and lead her gently to the platform._

"_Hey, Megsy, guess what?" the elder brother laughed, tugging the rather reluctant femme up the stairs. "Oh, come on, he won't bite…much…"_

"_Thanks," Megatron replied dryly, scowling at his brother. "Next time you get hooked up, how about mentioning it to me or something?"_

"_Next time," Optimus snorted under his breath, and Megatron cocked an optic ridge; now wasn't that an interesting thing for his brother to imply? Did Optimus intend to make a sparkmate of the femme before him? "Megs, this is Aerith. Aerith, here's the idiot who's actually running this planet."_

_Aerith glanced over at her mate, seemingly unsure of whether to laugh or not; Megatron spared her with his own sarcastic "Hardy-har-har." The femme slowly turned incredibly blue optics to look up at the protectorate. She seemed delicate, fragile--but Megatron made note of and suddenly respected the fire that hid behind her optics. This femme had strength--maybe not physical, but he was sure her spark was a force to be reckoned with. It was made very clear to him that his brother, too, saw this strength. He knew Optimus wanted an equal, someone to share his pain and his joy. Perhaps in this femme he had found such a partner?_

"_Ignoring Teenie Weenie over there," Megatron began (Optimus spluttered in horror), "I am Lord Protectorate Megatron, the governor of political affairs here on Cybertron. Brother of Optimus Prime and Eclipse, son of Basilion and Calypso."_

"_Um…Aerith," she said helplessly, tentatively taking the hand he extended to her, feeling hopelessly dull._

"_Relax," Optimus chuckled, sidling forward and wrapping an arm around his lover's waist. "You can call him Megsy Poo if you like. Or Meggy Weggy. Or Lord Protect-My-Farts-by-blaming-them-on-someone-else Megs."_

"_Cute, Poo-Poo-Woo-Hoo," Megatron retorted, and Optimus flinced; touche. A smile twitched on Aerith's faceplates, and she giggled. Optimus's expression turned from one of annoyance to one of complete adoration in a matter of a moment, and another saw him kissing his femme once more, completely drunk on her lips. Megatron rolled his optics and shielded Eclipse's._

"_Shall I leave?"_

"_Please do," Optimus moaned, and Megatron could only oblige very quickly when his brother's hands began straying to inappropriate places on his femme's beautiful body. _

_So Lord Protect-My-Farts Megatron departed, cradling a curious sparkling, who kept trying to sneak peeks at the passionate couple over her brother's shoulder, only to stop when he finally scolded her gently. No sooner had the door closed behind them than a Senator hurried towards it, clearly searching for some misplaced item._

"_Oh--wait," Megatron said quickly, touching the elder mech's shoulder. "You might not want to go in there."_

* * *

Elita stirred at the sound of her sparkmate's rustlings upon their berth. She sat up and blinked down at him, slightly irritated. He was tossing and turning a bit, muttering under his breath. She frowned, never having seen Megatron so unsettled. She reached out to him through their bond and was relieved to find no turmoil in his spark, at least; perhaps he was reflecting on some engaging memory.

She reached out and softly stroked his face, admiring his handsome features. He really was devilishly good-looking. Maybe not so much as his brother, who managed to be both cute and too-hot-to-touch at the same time. Megatron stirred, his optics blinking slowly online. He turned his head slightly to stare up at her, and a small smile lifted his faceplates.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "Did I wake you?"

"No, no…I was about to wake up anyway," he replied, sitting up and rubbing at his optics as would a child. "What's the time?"

Elita squinted at the chronometer. "Early. Very, very early. We don't have our shifts for another half joor."

Megatron groaned and laid back down, stretching his aching hydraulics; he'd fallen into recharge in a rather uncomfortable position. He purred when Elita snuggled into his side, sliding gentle arms around his waist and brushing her mouthplates against his cheek.

"Love you," she breathed, reveling in his strong, hard body. He adjusted to rest on his side, looming over her in all sensuality. He lifted one hand to slowly run his thumb back and forth beneath her jaw, sending a tremor through her frame.

"Have I ever told you how astoundingly beautiful you are?" he rumbled softly, his optics soft and luminous in the dark. She nodded slowly, entranced by him, enveloped by him. Megatron drew her face to his and glided his glossa over her lips, drinking in her taste. She shuddered and pulled him close, sealing his lips with her own.

There was room in her processor for no other--not that she wanted anything more than the mech above her, the lips that massaged hers, the hands that caressed her body in long, deep strokes, memorizing every curve of her erotic frame.

"I love you," Megatron said breathily, lifting his head to look into her optics, softly caressing her face. "I love you so much, 'Lita."

"I know, I know," she whispered, cupping his face in her small hands. "Megatron, I--"

She broke off with a deep shudder as he parted their chest plates, opening his spark to her and hers to him. Their sparks didn't touch, but she could still feel him so powerfully within her, as one with her…thunderous and powerful and…

_Still cold._

* * *

"You want to retreat?"

Ultra Magnus's shocked question came unbidden; he hadn't been able to keep it locked within his vocalizers. Rodimus looked up at his friend and mentor, his optics insurmountably tired, and he nodded slowly.

"But…why?" Magnus spluttered, his tanks churning. "Don't tell me these idiot rebels have broken your resolve?"

Rodimus looked away, his jaw tightening. Ultra Magnus had the annoying habit of hitting problems right on the aching head. It had been four orns since Optimus had been injured, four orns since Rodimus had taken over this unfortunate little escapade on Nebulon, and four orns since everything had gone very rapidly downhill. Hard as they all tried, Rodimus's forces could not call forth a victory, and the Council was threatening to withdraw their funds, leaving the army helpless in the water. Sure, Megatron was always ready and willing to finance his brother's missions--he was usually the one who assigned them, for Primus's sake--but the economy was suffering at present, and trade with neighboring worlds was beginning to fall through. And it was taxing enough trying to stem the rebel movements on Cybertron without worrying about what was happening on the backwards planet of Nebulon (everything was organic matter, for Pit's sake!).

"I don't think we have a choice, Magnus," Rodimus said quietly. "Optimus is down, and with him the troops' morale. The Council is getting angry, and we're low on money. We just can't keep this up. The rebels are growing every day, and so do our casualties. If we pull back we can regroup and recuperate, then come back and try again…"

"If we pull out now, then the rebels win!" Magnus exploded. "They're being rewarded for their treasonous behavior! If we give in now, their cause will spread, and we'll lose the order we've worked so hard to preserve! Would Optimus want us to pull out?"

"Optimus would use his head and not his spark!" Rodimus retorted, finally losing his cool. He stood up, facing Magnus squarely. "His troops are dying, Magnus, and he'd do anything to save them! He'd save what he could!"

"Optimus believes in _peace_!"

"_And look where that got him!"_

"Don't you dare speak badly of him! Primus knows he's saved your sorry little aft more times than you have the CPU chips to count!"

"Then he's a fool for that too, because I'm doing one Pit of a job here! Maybe both of us would be better off dead!"

Magnus bit his own glossa hard, stemming the smart reply. "You don't mean that," he managed to choke out, forcing himself to lower his voice. The troops weren't to know what turmoil their inexperienced commander was in, and he didn't want to attract attention to their argument.

Rodimus didn't reply for a long moment, trembling slightly. Then, with a groan, he sank back into his chair. Optimus's office suddenly seemed a lot more lonely. "You're right. I'm sorry, Magnus, I didn't mean that. I don't want Optimus dead--Primus, no, never-- and I don't want to die. I just don't know what to do."

Magnus sighed, relieved, and lowered his large girth with some difficulty into the chair facing the desk. "Listen, Rodimus. I'm certainly in no position to be telling you what to do. No one expects you to be Optimus--that could be more trouble than it's worth." Rodimus smiled slightly, and Magnus plowed on. "Anything we do now will have unfavorable repurcussions. Personally, I'm sure the troops would secretly welcome retreat--I just don't think it'll favor us in the long run. This may be a hopeless battle, and I may just be a stubborn old pile of scrap."

"I don't think you're stubborn, Magnus."

"What about the old pile of scrap part?"

"Debatable," Rodimus replied coyly, flashing the city commander one of his signature smiles. The sort of smile that made one wonder what sort of Pit they were in for.

"So you're going to issue the retreat order?"

Rodimus sighed, his reasonably renewed good mood evaporating quickly. "I don't know. There's not much else to be done here. We've already shown the rebels that we're willing to use force to bring order…maybe that's all that needs to be done. And we have dented their numbers, at least…surely they've suffered to some degree as we have. If we pull out now, we could show them the merciful side of things…or establish ourselves as total wimps."

Ultra Magnus heaved a long, weary sigh. "True. It's all true. But…we're all so tired, Rodimus. Even the toughest mech wearies of battle eventually. Besides, we have a lot of injured and only one Red Alert. Maybe it's time to go home?"

"…Yeah. Maybe it is."

* * *

It took over five deca-cycles to ready for the retreat. The troops--all of them--were stunned by Rodimus Prime's sudden docile side. He was very clear in telling them that the fighting had gone on long enough, that it was time for them to go home. And although almost all of them agreed heartily, the sting of defeat remained bitter in their sparks.

Even harder than breaking it to the men was breaking it to Megatron. Rodimus sat in absolute silence for a full breem, listening to the warlord rant and rave. Most of it Rodimus ignored, dismissing it as sheer angry words, but one thing made it through his receptor and stuck firmly in his processor--nay, in his spark.

"_If you pull out now, then Optimus gave __**everything **__for __**nothing**__!"_

"That's the point, though," Rodimus sighed to himself the night before the launch of their battleships. "Optimus--everyone--we've all given up too much. We're not gaining anything here. And he needs help. He needs it now…"

He groaned and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, leaning heavily over the back of his chair. He thought longingly of Arcee; he'd lost track of how long it had been since he'd touched her last. He missed the femme terribly. So there was a plus to this retreat.

_As opposed to Optimus, who doesn't really have anyone to go home to…just his brother, who is bonded to the femme Optimus fell in love with._

The morning came too soon. The ships were ready, loaded, and somehow their plans had gone unnoticed by the rebels, so Prowl heartily promised a safe departure. Still, Rodimus was careful to assign sentries to the launching pad upon which they were grounded the evening before.

"Ready to go home, big guy?" Rodimus asked as brightly as he could, opening the med bay door to Optimus's wing. The leader was deep in stasis, air hissing through his vents as the machines surrounding him pushed it into his half-dead body. Rodimus hovered awkwardly by his commander's bedside, watching Optimus's face carefully.

"Betcha anything your processor's still online and just fine, right?" Rodimus sighed, sinking down into a chair. "Boy, you must hate this. I'm sorry, Boss. I couldn't do what you could. We're pulling out in half a joor. We're going home. We'll get you to Ratchet, and we'll do everything we can to make you comfortable along the way. Hey, guess what? Ironhide's finally back up on his feet again…Red Alert had to strap him to the berth to keep him from getting up and about until his frame healed over. He said he'd come down before we launched. Thought that'd make ya happy…"

"…Rod…Rodi…"

The younger commander's head snapped up to see Optimus struggling to come online, his optics flickering as consciousness returned to him. Prime turned his head, squinting his optics to focus the blurry image before him. He reached one hand out, his fingers shaking, and Rodimus hurriedly clasped it in his own, his vocalizer failing him.

"Well done," Optimus said quietly, his own vocalizer struggling under the strain. Rodimus stared, his optics wide, and managed a nod before Prime slipped back into stasis.

* * *

"Move, move! The _Affinity_ is pulling in, lock up that hangar! Make sure the pressurizes are stable, get medical support out here ASAP! Dock it in, dock it! Lock it in place, get the hatch open, there are injured bots on board!"

Megatron and Elita watched from the hanger platform as Cliffjumper coaxed the magnificent black warship into the docking bay, the roar of its swept back engines dulling to a low hum. The plexiglass windshield that covered its front portion became transparent, revealing the slight chaos inside. Elita caught glimpses of Rodimus's blazing red armor and smiled very slightly. Megatron, however, tensed beside her, his hand gripping hers tightly. His brother was on board that ship, in stasis, slowly dying…

"Hurry it up," he barked at the docking bay workers, and they scurried to comply. Elita glanced up at her sparkmate and reached out to him through their bond. With some reluctance he opened up to her, though he kept his optics determinedly on the ship, and she attempted to soothe his stormy spark.

"He'll be alright," she whispered, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. "Ratchet's going to take good care of him, just you watch."

Even as she spoke, the white-and-red medic tore past them, shouting at the already berated workers to open the fragging hatch, he had patients in there! The hatch opened much too slowly, and he wriggled through it prematurely, completely ignoring Red Alert as the junior medic hurried after him, trying his soldier best to deliver his medical reports even while the Hatchet was going into berserker mode.

"…Elita?" Megatron sighed, and she looked up at him once more.

"Yes?"

He turned his luminous gaze towards her, his optics locking with hers. "Thank you. You've put up with a lot since you bonded with me."

"That's my job," she replied, smiling. "And I don't regret it a bit."

After a moment, he returned her smile. He chuckled and hugged her briefly, brushing his lips over hers in a soft kiss before releasing her and striding towards the docked ship. She had every intention of following him when a blue-green missile suddenly assaulted her.

"ELITA!"

"Ow! I--Chromia?"

"Hiyas, babe! How ya been? Oh my Primus, you would not believe that trip, I'm sooo tired…and 'Hide whined half the whole thing, he was such a pain in the aft! What's been going on?"

Elita blinked her optic covers, trying to bring her processor up to par with the onslaught of information. She smiled and returned her friend's embrace, laughing lightly--and feeling a lot better than she had in a very long time. "It's been alright. The rebels have actually simmered down here, we haven't had too much trouble. How is everyone?"

"Oh, well, I guess you know about Optimus…I suppose Megatron's gone to check on him now?"

"Probably. He's been worried."

"Duh," Chromia snorted, releasing the hapless rose femme and stretching widely. "I think I'll go find 'Hide, actually…Ratchet's probably fussing over Optimus, and my mech is bound to be in one of his moods again."

"Alright…give him a hello from me, would you?" Elita added, waving as Chromia turned to leave.

"Sure thing. Meet up with me in the rec room in a half joor or so, we have to talk and catch up and all that other femme stuff," Chromia called over her shoulder, running up the hatch.

"See you then…"

Elita lowered her hand at Chromia's departure, unaccustomed to the number of feelings in her spark. She felt very much like crying, for some reason…but…she also felt content. Almost happy. Happier than she'd been in a very long time, in any case.

_Optimus is home._

* * *

The med bay was quiet for once. It was a situation that Ratchet took full advantage of; he had a lot of patients in crit-con and a Pit of a stack of casualty reports to fill out on his desk. It was due to the silence that he was able to go about his tasks in a rather cheery manner, but there was another factor in his good mood, and it had everything to do with the fact that his commander was in capable hands at last.

Not that Optimus Prime's condition had improved. Rodimus was quick to inform the medic that the commander had come out of stasis momentarily before they'd taken off, but since then Prime had neither moved nor spoken. In fact, if not for the pressurized tubes sealed over his vents, Ratchet wondered if the commander could breathe deeply enough to keep himself alive.

Even more unnerving was the fact that Ratchet had found what the source of the problem was. Normally, it was a good thing when the Hatchet could make a clear diagnosis, but there was an exception for every rule. In this case, when Ratchet found a problem he couldn't fix.

Worse when he didn't know anyone who could.

Ratchet paused in the middle of a report, a scowl writing itself his faceplates. He'd been very much enjoying his good mood, but the thought of his commander--rushing to an undeniable, definite end--sent his processor right back into the Pit. He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. No matter how many times his logic center insisted Optimus was going to die, Ratchet couldn't force his spark to believe it. It didn't seem possible. Pit, it _wasn't_ possible. There had to be a way…

He leaned over to his computer and brought up the diagnostic of Optimus's processor, chewing on his lower mouthplates. There it was. A long, jagged red chasm that cut straight through Optimus's awareness modules, disrupting every line of programming it could reach. A virus.

One of the same viruses that had corrupted Aerith beyond repair two vorns ago.

Ratchet stared helplessly at the computer for a moment before shutting off the monitor. He couldn't bear to look at it any longer. It was as if that virus were a time bomb. Ratchet had no idea how long it had been lying dormant in Optimus's internal programming, but it had picked a Pit of a time to come online. The medic scowled at the ceiling, but it didn't even flinch; it was very used to being scowled at. And shot at. With guns.

How could Optimus have caught a virus from Aerith? There had never been any uncertainty about her corruption. They'd found her with all of the viruses intact and online. She'd had no exposure to such viruses before her capture. Had Optimus truly been foolish enough to interface with the femme even when he knew--he _knew_--she was carrying mutliple viruses for which there was no firewall, no way of blocking it or shutting it down?

Ratchet glanced up at the insistent beeping of the pressurizing coordinator; its transmissions were coming more and more frequently, as if it were working harder with each passing astrosecond. Ratchet rose slowly and circled around to Optimus's side, peering down carefully at his patient. The commander was gasping slightly, his chest heaving with the effort, and Ratchet's spark sank; Optimus couldn't breathe.

"Young fool," the medic murmured, adjusting the air output of the coordinator and watching carefully as Optimus's body went lax once more. "You should've kept your systems as far from hers as they could get."

There came a knock upon the door, but they slid open without Ratchet's bidding. Megatron tiptoed rather than strode in, as he usually did, and hovered awkwardly by the still open door until the medic grunted to acknowledge his existence.

"I just…I wanted…I thought I'd check on him," Megatron stammered lamely, but Ratchet seemed to understand; the younger politician wasn't very good with emotion. Especially not the terrible helplessness associated with losing one's brother. Ratchet excused himself into his office, leaving Megatron alone with his elder brother.

For a moment, Megatron felt frozen. He'd seen his brother in the med bay before, but never…never like this. Never so helpless and without life. It was unnerving, and Megatron had to fight the crazy urge to turn right around and run out the door--and never stop running until this nightmare was over. He instead forced his feet to move forward, moving to slowly ease himself into the chair at his brother's side.

"I know you can't hear me," he said quietly. "Well, maybe you can. Maybe you can't. Oh, but I've already said that…so…um…yeah."

He broke off. Lame. Lame! But what was one supposed to say when the clock was ticking against his own brother's life?

"Is there anyone who can help?" Megatron whispered, clutching his brother's heavy, cold hand in his own. "Isn't there a person on this fragging planet who can produce a decent antivirus?"

Optimus did not reply, but he did not need to. Megatron's own words had gotten his processor whirring, and it was usually a good thing. His brother was the intellectual, but Megatron had one Pit of a head on his shoulders. He wasn't particularly smart, but he was witty. He was sly, he was conniving, and by Primus he suddenly had an idea.

* * *

Megatron shivered; the lab was broken down, creaking, and it smelt stale, stinging his olfactory receptors. Torn cables hung down from the ceiling, and the walls reeked of decay. The lord shrunk slightly in his armor, off lining his olfactories; good Primus, that was revolting.

"Trion?" he said loudly, his voice echoing off of the rusty steel walls. "Alpha Trion? Are you here?"

"Are any of us here?" a voice quipped behind him, and Megatron whirled on his heel, stiffening. Alpha Trion was propped lazily on an overturned desk, nonchalantly purusing an old data pad. "I do not believe any of us are really _here_," he went on, not once looking at his jittery visitor. "To our past selves, we are really _there_. And to our future selves, we are back then. But what are our present selves but the past and future selves of our future and past selves? How can we be _here, there, _and _back then_ all at once? Truly mystifying."

"Um…right. You get back to me on that," Megatron said uneasily, fishing in his subspace compartment for a data pad of his own. "Listen. Do you remember Aerith?"

Alpha Trion looked up slowly and spoke, "Yes. Of course I remember. How could I forget? Tragic…truly tragic."

"There was a virus in her--"

"Several, actually…tragic…"

"Yeah, I know," Megatron plowed on, frustrated. "But there's one in particular I'm interested in. Since it infected Aerith, it has been serialized in the Cybertronian military network, but has not been made official to the public and medical services."

"And?" Trion prompted.

"It's Serial Virus Code EB21153-LM217. And I think you have the antivirus."

To this, Trion looked genuinely surprised. "The antivirus? My good lad, if I didn't have it then, not so long a time ago, what makes you think I could possibly have it now?"

"I think you've had it all along," Megatron said testily, his spark rolling in his chest. He hurriedly made a point of blocking Elita's out; this was a business he certainly didn't want her involved in. "I think that you withheld it from Optimus all that time ago, for whatever sick motives you may have had."

"Why on Cybertron would you suspect me of something like that?" Trion demanded, springing to his feet with surprising speed for a mech his age. "I gave his spark life! I created Optimus Prime, just as I created you and Elita One! Why in Primus's good name would I deny Optimus the one thing he so cherished--his lover's life?"

"I don't know," Megatron said shortly, and Trion froze, his optics slightly deranged. "I honestly don't. Life's made me a bit cynical, I suppose. Whether you have the antivirus is really none of my concern, I just need to get my hands on it."

Trion laxed, his optics narrowed and suspicious. "And why is that, dare I ask?"

Megatron inhaled deeply. "Because Optimus has been infected with SVC EB21153-LM217."

There was a silence. A long silence. Trion's optics widened slowly, and his jaw fell open in sheer horror. Megatron felt a grim sort of satisfaction; he had the old mech now.

"Help him," Megatron said quietly. "If you love Optimus half as much as you claim, help him, for Cybertron's sake."

The shock fading somewhat, Trion closed his mouth, his cold optics narrowing once more. "Optimus is a grown mech. What he did with an infected femme is none of my concern now that he is no longer under my own roof."

"If you could call it that," Megatron added under his breath, glaring up at the leaking ceiling, but Trion continued as if he hadn't heard.

"But no Creator wants to see his child die. So I'll administer the antivirus…for a price."

"You want credits?!" Megatron squawked. "Well, I mean, sure, but…that's awfully low, even for you."

"I wasn't referring to payment of that sort," Trion said coolly. "I was rather speaking of my plan. It needs to be adjusted. The ideal world has not yet been set…the sparkbond between you and Elita is a problem."

"Plan? Ideal world? And you leave Elita out of this!" Megatron snapped. Frag, this mech was insane.

"Elita and Optimus's sparks are formatted for one another," Trion said quietly, and Megatron froze, his spark screaming at him to run but his processor remembering Optimus. "They alone can make one another whole. You were the excess, Megatron. You are second to Optimus. You were not meant to survive. You were just left over spark energy."

"That's not true," Megatron snarled. "Elita chose me over Optimus! I'm her sparkmate!"

"She was misguided," Trion replied flatly. "As was Optimus. You were simply acting on the primitive intents of your spark. I suppose it only makes sense that you'd pursue Elita; you are, after all, hers and Optimus's remnants."

"_Remnants_?" Megatron spat. "Their remnants? What am I, their son? You're crazy, old mech."

"You are not their son," Trion said, taking a step forward. "You are shrapnel, the leftovers, unusable and useless. Invalid. You are not whole enough to be classified as a separate being."

"That's not true," Megatron insisted, but his confidence was wavering. Something about Trion's words was cutting into him, cold daggers in his spark…his incomplete spark. "This is bull-slag."

_No! I'm complete! I have a sparkmate, I'm whole!_

"Elita was built for Optimus Prime," Trion whispered, seeing the panic in Megatron's optics. "She lives for him, as he does for her. Their sparks beat only for one another. You, the discarded, have no place in their sparks. You have no place anywhere."

"No…stop it…Shut up!"

"I would know, Megatron," the mad mech murmured. "I created you. But you know what? I didn't even have enough left over spark matter to produce you fully. But to allow all that spark energy to go to waste…no, no, those were the remains of my children's lives, it had to go somewhere. So I transmutated it and combined it with a quantity of antimatter, producing your spark…"

"Shut up!" Megatron cried, drawing back involuntarily. What was going on? Trion had said so little, but each word was tearing him apart, seeing through him, taking over his spark. He was a toy, a puppet to Trion's wishes…they all were…Optimus and Elita and Aerith…

"You are darkness, Megatron. Do you really want to remain in Elita One's spark? Do you really want to plague her? The one femme you have ever loved, the femme you would give everything for? That is the promise of sparkmates, is it not?"

"SHUT UP!"

"And what of your brother? Surely you want to save him? Surely you don't want him to suffer the same fate as did Aerith? Surely you want more for him?"

"Shut up, shut up! Of course I do! Yes!"

"Then allow me to break your bond."

Megatron froze. Everything froze. His spark, his processor, his body and Trion and the world and his dying brother and his beloved sparkmate. Everything.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, please. It's all I have…_she's_ all I have. Elita's all I have, please don't!"

"You are invalid," Trion repeated, watching as Megatron sank to his knees. "A parasite in Elita's pure spark. And your brother is dying. I can save them both. An antivirus for Optimus, and a true sparkmate for Elita. Isn't that what you want? For them to be happy? I can make that happen, Megatron. You know I can. And all you have to do is say yes. I'll break the bond and you'll all move on."

"No, please," Megatron choked out. "Please…I can't live without her, I need her so much!"

"So does Optimus. He needs more than you. You need nothing because you _are_ nothing. Don't you want Elita to be happy?"

"…Yes."

"Don't you want Optimus to survive?"

"Yes, yes! Please, stop!"

"Don't you want to see Cybertron flourish?"

"YES! STOP IT!"

"Then let me break it. Just say yes," Trion whispered, a smile curling his faceplates. His ideal world…it was coming.

"YES!" Megatron wailed, clutching his head in his hands, his optics wide but unseeing. Trion was in his processor, he was _in his spark, making him believe…say yes… _

"YES! FINE! BREAK IT! MAKE HER HAPPY, LET HIM LIVE, YES! BREAK IT! **BREAK IT!**"

* * *

**Sorry, I love villains who play games with their victims' minds. So begins Megsy's spiral descent into the darkness. I feel bad for him, I really do. And now I hate Trion. Sorry about that too.**

**There was reference to the 2007 movie. Didja catch it? It's in the last section. :D Please enjoy, please review, in that order.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_Plenoptic_

**I'm having so much fun with these flashbacks. A bonding ceremony would be like a wedding, but it doesn't technically bond the bots…it's just a celebration of such an event occurring or getting ready to occur. In this case, Aerith and Optimus just wanted something between them.**

**Again, the Trinity would be something like their Bible, or the teachings of Primus. Oh yeah, I didn't specifically write the spark splitting scene. It's going to happen in New Beginnings very soon, (oops, just dropped a plot bunny! C'mere, ya stupid rodent…) and I really didn't want to take away from that. When that chapter of NB goes up, I'll mention it here so any of you who aren't regular readers can at least get a description of it. Sorry for any inconvenience. **

* * *

**Cybertron, Pre-War**

**Lord Protectorate Megatron, Commander Optimus Prime**

**INITIATE**

_Aerith shifted nervously on her seat, uncomfortable in the new armor. Chromia paused in her relentless scrubbing of the younger femme, her blue optics narrowing slightly._

"_Primus, Aerith, hold still," Chromia grumbled, rubbing an excessive amount of wax over the imaginary smudges on the blue femme's helm (Optimus was good at pampering Aerith if nothing else). _

"_I'm sorry, Chromia, I'm just…I'm scared."_

"_Nervous I could understand, but why scared?" Chromia demanded good-naturedly, chortling. "This is yours and Optimus's bonding ceremony. It's important, it's going to tie you two together. Forever, you know?"_

"_Optimus said that too. He said he couldn't promise me his spark, but…forever…he said I could have his forever if I wanted."_

"_Kiss aft," Chromia muttered, rolling her optics, but even she couldn't help but be touched by the commander's words. Maybe she should have Ironhide's vocalizer updated…he hadn't sweet talked her since they were young bots. _

"_Is she ready?" Springer quipped, sticking his head in through the door, and Chromia yelped. _

"_Hey! Springer, getcher aft outta here! No one's supposed to see her until the ceremony starts!"_

"_Okay, okay, so-rry…" the Triple Changer backed out, instead standing outside next to the door. "When is she gonna be ready?"_

"_As soon as I deem her ready!" Chromia snapped back. _

"_Well, uh…she can take her time, you know. Optimus is kinda having the pre-bonding-ceremony jitters…"_

_Aerith bit her lip, unable to hide the thrill of fear that roared through her spark. Pre-bonding-ceremony jitters…what could Springer possibly mean by that? Was Optimus having second thoughts about tying himself to her? Chromia, more intuitive than her twitchy trigger finger let on, immediately noticed her younger friend's distress._

"_Oh, for the love of…" Aerith distinctly heard the door hiss open, followed shortly by a violent-sounding clang as Chromia presumably dented Springer a new foreplate. Leaving him to howl and curse about femme nature in general, said brutal femme came back into the little room and resumed her preening of her younger friend as if nothing had happened._

_-_

_To say Optimus had pre-bonding-ceremony jitters was the understatement to undo them all. Ratchet had already spiked him out with sedatives, and the poor hapless commander was still hyperventilating, his vents heaving from the stress._

"_Optimus, if you don't cool down right now, you're going to blow out a fuse," Ratchet snapped, pressing the palms of his hands to the side's of Optimus's helm. Pressure nodes, pressure nodes…where were the slagging things when you needed them most?!_

"_I…can't…" Optimus gasped, clutching the edges of his seat, his optics closed tight. "What if she doesn't want to? What if she gets up there in front of everyone and ditches me? What if she runs screaming? What if she kicks me in the crotch and screams profanity at me?"_

"_When did we start talking about Chromia?" Rodimus demanded loudly from the corner, and Ratchet gave him the best medic glare he could muster. Now was seriously not the time for the sub-commander's idiocy._

"_Optimus, think about it for a second," Ultra Magnus soothed carefully. "This is Aerith we're talking about. Not Chromia and not Arcee and good Primus not Thunderblast. Aerith's your mate, right? And if I recall, she jumped on you and screamed her vocaliser out when you proposed to her, am I correct? I doubt she'll be having second thoughts this late in the game. She's a timid one, but she knows what she wants, right?"_

_Optimus forced his head to nod very awkwardly, then abruptly fell off of his chair, limp, when Ratchet finally found the pressure nodes with a triumphant "Gotcha!"_

_Rodimus cocked his head off of his folded arms as he watched Ratchet and Ultra Magnus heave Optimus onto his feet; the poor mech, though now calm, looked dazed. Ratchet needed to lighten up on the helm-groping…_

"_Slick," Rodimus said approvingly, eyeing Optimus's gleaming armor. The red and blue hues were brilliant, clashing marvelously, without the distraction of gun slag and soot covering the surface of the massive mech's hard body. "If I were a femme, I'd have my hands in your crotch plating right now."_

"_Thank you, Rodimus, you can go now," Magnus said loudly, and the sub-commander grinned. _

"_Don't be jealous, Mags. The femme-me finds you sexy as well."_

"_Rodimus," Ratchet said dangerously, but for once the moronic antics had done some good; Optimus was now looking positively excited. _

"_I look that good?" he inquired of his sub-commander, and Rodimus flashed him a thumbs-up._

"_You don't look good, Optimus, you look __**good**__. 'Good' as in you could find its definition right under 'kinky'. Aerith'll probably faint on the spot when she sees ya."_

"_That would be awful!"_

"_Yeah, but it'd make you look like a sexy beast, right?" Rodimus chuckled, and Optimus managed a weak smile. _

_-_

"_Doesn't it sorta feel like we shoulda had this worked out a long time ago?" Barricade groaned._

"_Shut up, you're not helping," Starscream snapped, rubbing at his helm. "What are we gonna do? Someone has to unite them…"_

"_I don't know anything about bonding, I'm no good," Jetfire said. "And for Optimus's sake I'll say the same for Screamer. Barricade, the last thing we need is your smart-aft giving Optimus and __Aerith their eternal happiness, so you're out too."_

"_I'll give you eternal suffering to console myself," Barricade growled. Outer Jetfire laughed somewhat nervously. Inner Jetfire got down on one knee and prayed._

"_But we don't want one of those guys who's gonna beat around the bush, either," Screamer interjected. "I mean, we need someone to get up there, make them say the 'I do's, and then get down so we can video record them making out. So I'm guessing no Kup, either."_

"_But this still has to be special, right?" Arcee chimed in, propping her elbows on Barricade's shoulders from behind and ignoring his squawks of protest. "Someone who knows Optimus and Aerith…someone to get right to the point…someone we can convince to do it, for another thing…"_

"_But who…?"_

_-_

"_So…ah…um…righ'. Ta be honest, I've never done this sorta thing, but, um, I'll give it my best shot…so…er…yeah. This is Aerith, and this is Optimus Prime, but anyone who doesn't know him musta been living under Screamer's aft or something…"_

_There were a few scattered snickers amongst the rather large audience (most of Iacon and a few neighboring cities had turned up to see their hero bonded). Optimus Prime bowed his head nervously, feeling large and conspicuous, and Aerith smiled slightly at the aft comment, containing her own giggles. If she started now, she had a feeling she wouldn't be able to stop._

_Ironhide cleared his vocaliser, shifting nervously behind the podium, a bit more relaxed now that he had a laugh from the crowd. The sun above was bright, the skies for once clear of radiation debris from weapons, and the light reflected brightly upon Iacon's tall white buildings, illuminating the crowded city square where they were all gathered, every pair of optics locked upon the royal couple. _

_Ironhide launched into the traditional text from the Trinity, deciding to get it over with as soon as possible. His voice faded as Optimus gazed upon his beloved, taking in her every curve and line and delicate feature. His hands crept forward to grasp hers, and she looked up at him, a smile lighting up her faceplates. Her optics shone with excitement, his spark churned with adoration, and he grinned down at his lover. Their optics locked, and there was nothing but them…no one on the planet but he and his femme, standing under the light of Primus, about to be bound together before the Creator's optics, inseparable…forever…a life he'd cherish until time itself ground to a halt…_

"…_And so it's here, in this city square, that Primus and half of the fragging Cybertronian population bear witness to the union of Optimus Prime and Aerith…" Ironhide groaned inwardly. This was slow torture. What he wanted to say ran something along the lines of "Kiss her, frag her, and let's go home", but Chromia, unseen by the crowd behind her sparkmate's girth, was poking a rifle into his back--and there ain't no loving way to poke a double-barreled **anything**. So he plowed on. "We unite them here today for love and for truth, for peace and for serenity…"_

"_Forever," Optimus whispered, his fingers tightening around hers. She nodded slowly, feeling the tears stinging her optics. What had she done to deserve this? To deserve him?_

"_So do you, Optimus Prime, take Aerith here as your mate, as your one and only, to love and to cherish her spark above all others, to see to her well being and her happiness before all else--but mind you, not before that tank of high grade you still owe me…"_

"_With one minor omission, I do," Optimus replied, thinking of shooting Ironhide a fatal look (or groin kick, cough cough) but finding himself unable to pull his optics from his Aerith. _

"_And do you, Aerith, take lugnuts here as __**your **__mate, your one and only, to be faithful and kind and honest, to ease his fears and take away his suffering?"_

"_Yes," Aerith whispered, clutching Optimus's hand as it came up to cradle her face. Her mate drew close, his optics wide and full of excitement, nodding his silent vows to her, his personal vows, the promises words could never describe. _

"_Alright…then, by the authority forced upon me by Jetfire and Starscream, and the power reluctantly given to me by Primus, you two are officially bonded in the optics of Cybertron. Optimus, kiss your femme."_

_The moment the words left Ironhide's vocaliser Prime swept his femme into his arms, his lips meeting hers tenderly, kissing her deeply. Aerith hugged him around his neck, pulling him closer, and his large, warm arms came around her waist, pressing her small frame against his. The roars of approval from the crowd barely met their audios. There was __**him **__and __**her**__ and __**them**__, there were his lips and her lips and their lips, one kiss and two bodies and two sparks that somehow, miraculously, for that moment, felt as one…_

_For that moment and forever._

* * *

Elita One screamed abruptly, startling the two remaining mechs in the rec room, where she had fallen into recharge barely a quarter joor ago. Rodimus and Ultra Magnus both got to their feet to hurry to the side of the couch; Roddy leaned against the back, concern spreading across his faceplates, while Ultra Magnus knelt and attempted to wake Elita from her fitful recharge.

"Elita, Elita, wake up," he pleaded quietly, holding her shoulders gently as she thrashed about on the couch. "It's a bad memory replay, just come out of recharge…Elita, wake up!"

She awoke with a jolt, her optics wide, brimming with tears, and alive with panic.

"Megatron," she whimpered helplessly, falling limp beneath Magnus's hands. "Where's Megatron?"

"He's out, Elita, he's off base right now," Magnus said gently, helping the femme sit up. "Why? What's wrong?"

She shook her head and suddenly buried her face in her hands, sobbing helplessly. Rodimus and Magnus took a second to be shocked before the latter opted to embrace the femme tightly, rubbing gently at her back armor.

"Elita, what's wrong?" he asked of his friend, his spark tying itself in knots at her cries. He didn't like to see femmes upset. Any femme. Femmes cried about a lot, but not the femmes on their base. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Elita shed a tear. Probably when she'd been hit in the helm by a misaimed wrench (courtesy of Ratchet) and her optics had welled up for a moment. Or when they'd found a ridiculous parody of Optimus and Megatron online and she'd laughed until tears had run from her optics (which was actually just before the first incident; Ratchet had thrown the wrench to make them all shut up). To see Elita One crying out of sadness alone was unthinkable.

Elita, of course, was every bit as lost as were her friends. She didn't know where the wellspring of sadness had come from, only that it was unbearable. She clutched onto Ultra Magnus and cried. Her spark was twisting itself into hard, painful knots in her chest. Worse yet, when she tried to reach out to Megatron for comfort, her spark found a dead end. It was like being dropped into a pitch dark hole, and straining to look up to find the light of the outside world, only to find that up wasn't up anymore. Only to find that there _wasn't_ a light. No other existence outside of that small, dark hole.

"Megatron!" she wailed, suddenly feeling completely alone. Where was he? He was supposed to be there for her! They were sparkmates! Neither was supposed to ever be alone, they were supposed to be there for one another! _Where was he_?

Had he abandoned her? Where was his spark? The darkness was terrible and overwhelming, she felt like she was choking on it. Each scream of her bonded's name only made the pain worse. Her spark was cold, screaming with her, writhing in the sheer agony of whatever was occurring.

An awful thought came to her. What if Megatron was dead? What if he'd been ambushed by rebels outside the base?

"Find him," she pleaded in a sob, burying her face against Magnus's shoulder. "Please, find him, it hurts so much!"

"Go," Magnus said shakily, looking up at Rodimus. "Try and get him via comm, something's wrong…"

There was no need; no sooner had Magnus issued the order than the rec room doors slid open and Megatron himself stalked in. Rodimus nearly raised a greeting, but it died in his throat; Magnus was right.

Something was wrong.

* * *

Optimus Prime woke up.

It was a very curious sensation. He hadn't felt it in a long time. His optics came online, his systems whirred, his pump was a cheery drum within his chest, lodged snuggly beneath his spark. He twitched his fingers experimentally. No pain. He felt fine, perfect, _healed_. Prime sat up slowly, flexing his extremities, bending his limbs, feeling the newly welded armor of his helm.

"Optimus!" Ratchet yelped suddenly, and the young commander jumped badly, and would have fallen off of the berth had it not been for Ironhide's firm hand on his shoulder.

"Ironhide!" he cried, relief flooding his spark. "You're okay?"

"Been bettah," the weapons specialist admitted, shrugging his uninjured shoulder. "It's still comin' together, ya know? Ratch is more of ah miracle worker than we thought…anyway, how ya feel?"

"Better. More than better, I'm perfect. Everything feels like it's okay again," Optimus replied, curling his hand into a fist. "But I thought…"

He glanced around the room. At Ironhide, at a hyperventilating Ratchet, at--

"Alpha Trion?" Optimus realized, shocked. "But why…?"

"Just offering my assistance," Trion said thinly, cracking a smile.

"He administered the antivirus," Ratchet said breathlessly, his optics alive and bright.

"I thought there wasn't one," Optimus replied, frowning slightly. Sure, being alive had its perks and all, but something didn't fit here. At all. "And…Ratchet, I thought you said it was one of the viruses that…that…I mean, I thought I'd gotten it from her before she…"

Ratchet nodded briefly, sparing his protégé. "I thought you did, but I must have been wrong…"

But Optimus was no longer listening. The nod was all it had taken for his spark to freeze in its casing. He stared at his Creator, his processor dumbfounded, his spark screaming. Trion met his gaze steadily, but there was a sort of resigned guilt in his optics.

"Ironhide? Ratchet? Would you please step out for a moment?"

"What? Why? Why should we--?"

"Go," Optimus snarled, and they jumped at his sudden ferocity. "That's an order!"

They stood quickly and exited the med bay, bewildered, chancing glances over their shoulders. Optimus waited until he heard the door slide closed before speaking.

"You had an antivirus," he said quietly, his fists curling upon the semi-soft covering of the berth.

"Yes," Trion replied wearily.

Optimus swallowed, steeling himself and trying to keep his voice from shaking. He failed. "You had quite a few antiviruses."

"I did."

Fury. Boiling in his spark, taking over his processor. He was jumping to conclusions, but he didn't care. "You had an antivirus for everything."

"I did."

"You've had them all along!"

"…I did."

"You never told me! You never told anyone! You kept them hidden!"

"Yes," Trion replied curtly, his blue optics cold. "I don't deny it."

"You had the antivirus! You had every one!"

"Yes, I did. You are repeating yourself."

It was blind rage that took him just then. Rage and anger and guilt and pain and hate flooded his processor, his spark, blocking out everything else. Such as the fact that he could no longer feel his brother's spark. Nor could he feel Elita's spark through his brother's.

He rose to his feet, took a single step forward, and punched Alpha Trion with everything his recovering body could muster.

Which was enough to send the old mech flying out of his chair to hit the wall several feet away. Optimus launched forward, seizing his Creator by the chestplates and dragging him up to face level. Trion now sported a wonky optic and an impressive dent, but there was no room for pity in Optimus's seething spark.

"**YOU LET AERITH DIE!**" he roared.

Alpha Trion looked up calmly into the raging blue optics, saw through to the spark that was now gripped with grief and hatred.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I did. You were to bond with Elita One. I had to make it so."

"What does Elita have to do with--?!" Optimus stopped short, cocking his head slightly. He seemed to be opening his comm link. After a moment his optics widened.

"Elita," he moaned, then turned and sprinted from the room, leaving the old bewildered mech forgotten on the floor.

* * *

"Megatron," Elita choked out, springing out of Magnus's arms and to her feet. After a pause her sparkmate opened his arms to her and took her gently into his embrace. She sobbed helplessly for only Primus knew how long, and Megatron didn't interrupt her; he seemed to be steeling herself.

"What's going on?" Elita whimpered, some corner of her processor ashamed at her own weakness and the rest adamantly not caring. "Why…why can't I feel you? What's happened, what's wrong? Megatron, _talk to me, I feel like I'm going to die_!"

Megatron inhaled deeply, ignoring his spark for the first time in a long time. Now wasn't the time to get emotional. Now was the time to say it straight. His spark was too hung up on the femme in his arms; time to let his processor do the work.

"Elita. Let go."

She shook her head frantically, pressing her face further into his chestplates. It hurt! She couldn't feel his spark! What the Pit was happening, and why to _them_?!

"Elita One, I told you to let go. That is an order."

Her spark froze with shock. Suddenly feeling numb, she slowly released her grip on him and backed up a few steps, and Rodimus and Magnus immediately and innately moved forward to stand at her back. They exchanged a glance over her head; something was about to go to Pit, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

"Our bond is broken," Megatron said abruptly, and a silence like ice filled the room. Rodimus's jaw dropped, and Magnus's already round optics widened further. Elita stood stock still, her spark screaming louder than before but her processor unable to compute a word that now spilled from her beloved's mouth. "I cannot tell you the details. It is confidential, and only between Alpha Trion and myself. Our bondage was enjoyable for its duration, but I believe we went too far. It is safe to say that it is time for us to move on…"

"No," Elita whispered, shaking her head slowly. Her processor was beginning to come up to par with her spark. "No, no, Megatron…no…how…?"

"Again. That is confidential. In any case, the bond is broken, and you would do well to continue on with your life as if it never existed," Megatron said coldly.

"Never existed?!" Elita shrieked, suddenly infuriated, and Rodimus and Magnus jumped, though Megatron remained stoic. "_Never existed?!_ I never bonded with you, is that what you're saying? That is was invalid? That it meant nothing? That it was young processors getting the better of equally new sparks? Is that what you're saying to me?!"

"Yes," Megatron replied calmly, and she fell silent, shocked. Yes? _Yes?_ Wait--he was admitting to it?!

"Wh--What the Pit is this?!" Rodimus snarled, whipping his rifle from subspace. "What's going on here? You can't just break a bond and say it was nothing? It's a union of existence! It's--"

"Shut up, Rodimus," Megatron snarled. "Do not comment about that which you cannot possibly understand!"

"But I DO understand!" Rodimus retorted furiously, training his rifle upon Megatron's prone form. "I'm ready to take a femme as a bondmate, I understand how it would feel to lose her! You think it's **okay** to take Elita as your sparkmate then drop her like a dead mechanocat?! Kiss the grave and walk away?! In your book, that's okay all of the sudden?! **Who the Pit are you?!**"

"I am Megatron," the lord replied quietly, and Rodimus growled. "I am Megatron as I should be. I was wrong in taking a bonded. Having a mate was all well and good, but eternal connections will only hinder in the end. She would have become a burden eventually, and I--"

The rest of his sentence was interrupted as Optimus Prime heaved the door open and, before anyone could squeeze a word in, launched himself forward and punched his brother, sending him crashing to the ground.

"Ow," Optimus muttered, rubbing his knuckles. "Why am I the only one punching all the shit-afts on base today?"

"Optimus," Rodimus gasped, gaping first at his commander and then at the stunned Megatron on the ground. "How…?"

"Magnus had his comm link on," Optimus replied, tapping his audio receptor. "I heard the whole thing. Pity, too, I was just about to work out a lot of stress…thanks for staying with her," he added, coming forward and resting a hand on Elita's shoulder. "Lita? Are you alright?"

"That's a stupid question," she whispered, and abruptly fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands. She heard and felt three mechs crouch with her, felt one strong pair of arms come around her, but it was no good. Her world was coming apart. Her spark still contained half of Megatron's, but the connection was dead; there was no warmth to reach to, no comforting hand to hold, no body to sleep upon and no mech to wipe away her tears.

She was alone. The darkness had her, and there was no escape. Megatron was gone from her spark, gone from her life, no matter the fact that he lay not more than six feet away. She didn't even have the strength to cry; crying wasn't going to bring her sparkmate back. But nor would being as strong as she usually was.

What was she anyway? Without Megatron? She didn't remember a world without him in her spark, in her life, holding her hand. It wasn't just love for him anymore, it was downright obesession, and now that her object of such devotion was pulling himself away from her, without a single regret, without a look back…

She was so alone.

* * *

She woke up feeling like she was going to purge her tanks. Which she did. Over the side of whosever berth she was lying on and all over the floor.

"Whoa--Primus! Elita! Did you just--oh, frag, frag, one second…"

Suddenly there was a bin beneath her head, a warm hand on her back, and her tank purge continued. Finally, her tanks blissfully drained, she flopped backwards, keeping her optics shuttered tight. There was a rustling about the room, a heavy weight settled down next to her, and she felt a damp cleaning cloth rub gently against her mouth and face, wiping away the waste.

"Sorry," she said, her dental plates gritted. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"I know," Optimus Prime said quietly. He tossed the rag into the hamper in the corner and folded his hands in his lap, looking sideways at the femme stretched upon his berth. "Megatron's in the med bay right now. With tranquilizers. He was losing it. His processor, I mean. He's completely… sorry, you don't need to hear that. You really didn't need to hear that, Primus, I'm such an idiot…"

"No, you're not," Elita whispered, still refusing to open her optics. She reached out and groped around in the dark for a moment before finding his hand, gripping it tightly. "Keep talking, Optimus."

"Are you sure?"

"Keep talking like everything's normal," she murmured. "Keep talking like nothing's wrong." Her optics came online, suddenly flooded with tears. Startled, he leaned forward, touching her face gently. She caught his hand and held it to her cheek, looking up into his infinite blue optics. "Talk to me like I'd bonded to you instead," she whispered.

He extended his arms slowly, gathering the femme he loved into his lap, tucking her head beneath his chin. His strong arms encircled her completely, trapping her in his warmth.

...Warmth.

_He's warm._

"_**--And Primus, Chromia, he's so warm."**_

_**Thunderous and powerful and still cold.**_

_He's so warm!_

"I was so wrong!" she wailed, burying her face into his chestplates. "I made a mistake! Something was always off about him, about **us**, and I always ignored it! I ignored my spark! I was so wrong--about him and about you and about everything! I was supposed to be with _you_! I was supposed to fall in _love_ with_ you_! We were supposed to be sparkmates! I made a mistake and you and Megatron got hurt because of it! I--"

"Elita, that's enough!" he broke in, his spark twisting into a painful knot in his chest. "That's enough, just--just stop. Please. You're tearing me apart. We're all at fault here. No, never mind, I never said that, it's no one's fault, okay? It was all of us fragging up at the same time and for the same reasons and we all made it a mess together, alright? Don't you dare take this all upon yourself!"

"Why do you care so much?" Elita whispered helplessly, shaking her head slowly. She looked up, up into those powerful blue optics and the sad, scarred face.

"I can't help but care," he replied softly, pressing his forehead to hers, his optics bright in the dark. "I love you."

"But…you…Aerith--"

"Wanted me to be happy," he finished gently. "She told me the night before she--before she died," he managed to crack out. It made his spark hurt. "She told me to move on. She said that my spark didn't have to go with her. She said that as long as I was alive, there was still a chance." He inhaled deeply, pulling Elita's body against his. "I don't need you to love me back," he whispered, his lips ghosting over her audio receptor. "Just…don't go. Don't go the way she did."

In vorns to follow, a happily bonded couple would look back on that moment and grimace and snicker and talk about what kids they were. What little weaklings. She would lightly punch his arm and call him a wuss and he'd grab her wrist and accuse her of starting it. But that didn't change how they felt on that night.

Elita clung to Optimus and cried and Optimus clung to Elita and cried. There was a lot of hurt that night. There was a lot of comfort. Maybe not from friends, and not from lovers, but from two bots who simply belonged in one another's arms--in one another's very sparks. Optimus and Elita simply _were_. They cried for the fact that they hadn't seen that sooner. And it was not because Alpha Trion had built them so. Their sparks were their sparks; they were together because at some point, Primus had decided that it was meant to be.

They cried for a lot that night. They cried for Optimus and for Elita and for **them** and for Aerith and for Megatron. Optimus told her about his parents and his and Megatron's sibling and then their adopted Eclipse, and they cried some more. Elita told him about living with Trion and how it felt being away from the sparks she was kin to, how it felt to be raised with a piece of existence missing from your life.

They cried for that too.

* * *

They didn't want to face the morning, but the damned sun rose anyway. They showered off in his quarters (Optimus courteously insisted that Elita go first, and somehow managed to restrain from following her in) and dried one another and Elita mended Optimus's paintjob as best she could.

"Rodimus promised me he and Springer would fix it," Optimus said, sitting obediently while Elita polished his shoulder armor. "That feels nice."

"Don't get used to it," she snorted, and he smiled. As fate would have it, Optimus Prime was going to get very used to--and annoyed with, in a very masculine way--Elita One fixing up his armor in the morning. But that was vorns to come, and for the time being, they still had one more challenge to face.

-

"When we get back, I demand to know how you're up on your feet again," Elita muttered, as she and Optimus had both frozen in front of the med bay door.

"What? Regarding the virus?"

"Yes. Sorry I didn't come see you, by the way, I was--"

"No, no, you don't need to explain…I understand. There was a lot going on, was there not? Actually, I could tell you all about it now," Optimus put in nervously, and she laughed shakily.

"No, Optimus. If we don't walk in now--"

"I know, I know--we'll never walk in," Optimus sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I don't know what I'm going to find in there. It's nerve wracking."

Elita mimicked his sigh, shaking her head. She nudged closer to him, and after a moment he slipped his arm around her, pressing his face into the side of her neck. "Everything's going to change," she whispered. "But I swear I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," he replied, straightening and pulling away from her. "We could be in for Pit here."

* * *

**I was going to write the next big scene. But I decided that I don't wanna. :D Next chappie, folks, next chappie...**

**Okay, I'm going to kick all of you critics in the face right now--ELITA IS NOT BEING A WUSS. SHE HAS JUST LOST HER SPARKMATE. SHE'S ALLOWED TO SHED A FEW TEARS, OKAY?! AND WHO WOULDN'T CRY TO OPTIMUS PRIME?! I WOULD!! FREAKIN A!!**

**Please enjoy, please review, in dat ordah. I'm Ironhide today. :D**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_Plenoptic_

**I am forging ahead. Slow chapter this time...though the next will heat up, if ya know what I mean. ;) More flashbacks. **

**I've recently lost a very close friend, so excuse me if I'm not as active as I've been--which is saying something, because lately I've been about as creative as a college level logic textbook. The next chapter of New Beginnings is IN PROGRESS--I'm a good four pages in, I just need to flush out some minor points and get the final story arc started. So stop sending me hate mail, okay?**

**Nightflight is a somewhat OC with the name off of a Decepticon from forever ago. Please ask if you're interested in using her. Personally I think it's easier to just make up a Decepticon chick than go hunting around for them...**

* * *

**Pre War, Cybertron**

**First passing of First Satelite**

**Megatron and Optimus Prime**

INITIATE

_Ironhide frowned slightly, watching the squirming bundle of wires upon the medical bay berth. It blinked up at him, its luminous blue optics narrowing under the bright glow of the operating lamp above its head. Ironhide bent over, his form dark but his siloutte stocky against the light. The bundle chirruped quietly, blinking its optic covers. One small hand lifted out to him, and a tiny whimper rolled from its vocalizer. _

"_What is it?" Ironhide growled out, poking the squirmy thing. It sniffled and rolled onto its side, curling into a ball. _

"_It?" Chromia squawked. "You mean __**he**__, right? He?!"_

"_Sure, sure…wait, what?"_

"_It's a he!" Chromia snapped, batting him away and bending over to scoop the child into her arms. _

"_Actually, I believe the specimens are more qualified to be called newlings, as both appear to be of roughly three orns of age," Perceptor piped up. Ultra Magnus stared at him._

"_Specimens?" Nightflight groaned, shaking her head. "Did he honestly just call them specimens? Get out of here, Perceptor."_

"_I inquire as to why you are banishing my person."_

"_Ban--? Oh, never mind. Friggin' idiot…"_

"_Can it talk?" Ironhide pressed, watching the whimpering newling in his beloved's arms. _

"_Not yet it can't," Chromia said icily, carefully wrapping the little one in a heated blanket. It chirped, blinking up at her. She giggled and cooed down at it, "Aren't you a cute little thing? Such a pretty little face…"_

"_I thought you said it was a he?!" Ironhide yelped. _

"_Huh? Well, it is a he."_

"_Then why are you calling it pretty?"_

"_Ugh. You really have no experience at all, do you, Ironhide." She shook her head in disgust and turned away, instead taking the little one to a rather busy Ratchet. "Ratch? Do we know what their names are yet?"_

"_Jetfire and Starscream haven't finished analyzing the memory data we recovered from their processors," the medic replied, currently bending over another newling. This one was far less quiet than the one in Chromia's arms; it refused to sit still and repeatedly punched Ratchet in the noseplates. "I am going to strangle this thing…"_

_Nightflight shrieked and swiped the newling from the berth, retreating into a corner of the room. Ratchet stared on in disgust._

"_I was only joking, Nightflight, I'm not going to strangle anything…I'm a medic, for the love of--"_

"_Whatever! You stay away! Newling killer!"_

"_I'd never strangle a newling! Primus, femme, don't you listen?"_

"_Just stay away! No!"_

"_Hey! Get back here!"_

"_Ta-dah!" Starscream shouted triumphantly, stepping in through the door, and was immediately bowled over by a fleeing Nightflight. He staggered to his feet only to be hit by a wild shot wrench (Ratchet grimaced, "Frag, I missed!") and promptly fell to the floor again. Jetfire skidded in, stepped carefully over his best friend, then resumed his frantic gait right up to Chromia._

"_Found their names!" he said happily, waving a data readoff in front of her optics. "We had to go through a whole lot of memory files to find it, too…"_

"_We?" Starscream snarled, getting slowly and cautiously to his feet. "I was the one who found their names!"_

"_Yeah, but I was reading over your shoulder."_

"_So?! I still found them first!"_

"_Geez, Screamer, don't be such a glory thief!"_

"_I'm not a glory thief!"_

"_Whatever," Jetfire muttered, waving his friend off. "Anyway, anyway, listen--that one Nightflight's running with? His name is Megatron. This little guy here is his twin brother…_

"_Optimus."_

* * *

_Aerith shifted nervously, glancing up at her mate. Optimus Prime was frowning, slowly perusing the data pad containing the cases for that orn's Court. The combined Senate and High Council was gathered around the hall, deep in conversation or making vain small talk. Megatron was seated at the opposite end of the table for the time being, discussing the same cases with Barricade and Prowl. Both leaders were scowling deeply; none of these topics were of interest or use to either of them. Optimus had been vouching for more military funds; Megatron had been on his knees praying to Primus for tax reductions. The public was starting to raise their voices. Cybertron was going into a planet wide recession, and younglings were going hungry as a result of it. Yet, the Council and Senate saw fit to see only to their own trivial affairs…_

"_You're angry," Aerith said quietly, and Optimus glanced up at her._

"_Yes, rather," he sighed, leaning back. Then he forced a smile, taking her hand gently. "But not with you, don't worry…"_

"_Oh no, I hadn't thought so…still. It's upsetting, seeing you so tense…" she frowned. "The cases. They're that troubling?"_

"_You have no idea," he laughed, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. "Be glad you don't have to bother your innocent processor with any of this frag."_

_She bit her lip, gazing down at her lap. He frowned, leaning closer to her. "Sweetspark. What's wrong?"_

"_Why am I here, Optimus?" she asked heavily._

"_What are you talking about?" he inquired, cocking his head. "You're here with me, are you not?"_

_She shook her head, her astoundingly blue optics sad. "No…what use am I here in Court? What use am I to these Councilors, to __**you**__? I'm just an onlooker, and there's no room for observers when it comes to helping Cybertron's people. I'm useless. Why keep me here? I don't know the first thing about politics…"_

"_Good Primus, femme, do you have an inferiority complex or what?" Optimus demanded, and she looked up at him, shocked. He chuckled quietly and lifted her easily from her seat and into his lap, cradling her close to his chest. She shuttered her optics and pressed tightly into him, feeling the warmth of his spark just beneath his chest plates. _

"_Listen to you, Aerith," he murmured, nuzzling her gently. "Listen to yourself. You fret and fret about your usefulness here. You give me hope. You give me the strength to go on. The more invigorated I am, the better use I can be to Cybertron. And you. I heard you just now, I heard the feelings in your voice…I heard your spark. You care for Cybertron. You care for its people. That's why you're here. Out of all of us, you're probably the purest of all, sweetspark."_

_She frowned, dropping her head against his chestplates. "You have this weird way of making me feel better. I'm supposed feel guilty about this kind of thing and you always make me feel like some sort of angel."_

"_You are an angel," he replied lightly, softly kissing her helm. "My angel, straight from Primus."_

_Aerith turned her head to look up at him, to meet his deep blue optics, to caress his handsome face, slightly return his small smile. "I love you," she told him quietly. He drew her closer and kissed her, softly meeting her supple lips. Nearby, Megatron and Prowl sniggered, but the lovers paid them no heed. Megs and Prowly could be laughing for a long time._

_Optimus and Aerith had forever…_

_The shuttlecraft was quiet. Utterly, totally quiet. Ultra Magnus glanced into his rear mirror, frowning worriedly at his three passengers in the back. Elita One sat wedged between Megatron and Optimus Prime, both of whom were staring vacantly out their windows. Elita was watching the floor of the craft, but she glanced up to timidly meet Magnus's optics through the mirror. She forced a smile before dropping his gaze. _

_They were returning from a Council meeting--a meeting that had brought forth a lot of cursing and yelling and raised voices and, from Elita, no matter how she tried to stop them, tears. The Council had made a lot of threats, the worst of which being the immediate disbanding of Megatron and Optimus's military on terms of treason. The young leaders were frustrated; they were revolutionists, idealists, not rebels, and certainly not anarchists. Buried beneath the threat was an even worse possibility; if the independent military were disbanded, Optimus and Megatron would probably be arrested, and Elita relocated._

_She sank back in her seat, tears filling her optics once more. She bit her lip to keep from whimpering, but she couldn't bottle her fear in her spark. She was scared. She was so scared. She loved Optimus and Megatron; they were everything to her, her world, her light, her life. They were her friends, the only two beings on the face of the planet in whose arms she could break down and cry if needed, or laugh until she chucked up her tanks, or yell until her anger melted away. _

_They couldn't leave. She'd break apart._

_A large, warm hand caressed her face, and she looked up to find Optimus gently wiping her tears from her cheeks. "Don't cry," he whispered softly, clutching her hand in his. "Don't cry, Lita. You're breaking my spark."_

_Megatron looked over and blinked, shocked. "Lita? Hey, hey…it's alright. Don't cry, please…we're not going anywhere, okay? Those councilors can take their own words and shove it up their fat afts, they're all talk. They don't have the guts…"_

_Elita nodded, trying to accept his words, but her spark lurched all the same; Megatron sounded too much like he was trying to convince himself of their truth. The brothers squeezed together in unison, clutching their beloved femme close, enfolding her completely in their arms. Her small hands closed over their powerful forearms, tears rolling silently down her face. _

"_I love you two," she choked out, hating herself for her weakness, adoring them for their strength. "Don't go."_

_Optimus shook his head slowly, softly kissing her helm. _

"_No, no," Megatron sighed, rocking the femme slightly. "We're right here, Elita. Right here whenever you need us. Not going anywhere. You can cry, we're right here…"_

_Optimus nuzzled her gently, tightening his arm around her. "I love you," he told her quietly. "I won't leave you."_

* * *

Elita One looked up at Optimus Prime, carefully observing his face. "You meant it back then," she said quietly.

He looked down at her, blinking. "Pardon?"

"After that one meeting, when we were coming back to base. I was upset, and you and Megatron comforted me. You told me you loved me."

He blushed slightly, looking embarrassed. "Well…"

"You meant it. I thought you were talking as if you were my friend, my sibling, but…you were being literal."

He sighed, cautiously taking her hand. She squeezed his fingers, letting him know it was okay. She wanted him around. She wanted _him._ She wanted him and everything he had to offer. He looked down at her, his optics tender above his mask.

"I love you," he whispered. "I always have."

Elita stepped closer, reaching up to him. He obediently bent slightly, closing his arms around her waist, allowing her to hug him around his shoulders. She pressed her face to his, relaxing in his embrace, melting into his arms. She felt so safe. So loved. So wonderful there with Optimus Prime.

"Don't go," she murmured, hugging him tighter.

"I won't," he responded, nuzzling her softly, rocking her in his arms. "But right now, put your spark on hold, alright? I think…Megatron still needs you."

Her spark clenched with anxiety, but she nodded slowly. They parted, resisting the urge to hold one another's hands; it was best to approach the seemingly deranged Megatron neutrally. He inhaled deeply and touched her hand one last time before giving the doors the command to open. They did so, as they always did, but this time they parted with a sort of menace, a dark warning of what awaited them inside. Optimus lifted his head high, drew his shoulders back, and marched in, Elita following right at his heels, her faceplates set and defiant.

Ratchet confronted them quickly, rising from his desk to stride forward and grasp Optimus's hand and hug Elita briefly. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, but she shook her head, stepping back from him and holding his hands in hers.

"It's okay," she said evenly, smiling slightly. "I'm okay. We'll get through it."

Ratchet chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "Primus knows how you do it, Elita. Most bots would be in shambles if their bonds were broken. Of course, the whole base is in chaos; Chromia and Moonracer were downright screaming to see you. I told them you were detained…"

"I was wondering why you didn't insist upon keeping me here in the med bay," Elita said, cocking her head. "You know…spark collapse or something. Shock."

"I figured he could handle it," Ratchet muttered, jerking a thumb callously in Optimus's direction. "I'm not the most caring person, in case you haven't noticed. There's not much I could do if you started crying. I might fritz. And then where would that leave poor Red Alert?"

Elita laughed lightly, and Optimus felt his spark soar. His optics softened as he watched her, his face gentled. He wanted to pull her close and never let go. He wanted to take her spark and never give it back. He wanted to make her his and never let the rest of the world see her again. But she'd break free. Eventually, she'd demand to see the sun again.

It was what he loved about her.

"Elita," he said gently, drawing her attention back to their current situation. "Shall we get this over with?"

She sighed heavily and hugged Ratchet once more before joining Optimus. "Wish us luck."

"Good luck," the medic replied without hesitation. "If he starts to…get violent…call me, alright? Sedatives will come. Followed by projectiles, if the situation requires such."

"No thanks," Optimus said flatly. "I don't trust your aim, frankly."

Ratchet smiled slightly, waved, and didn't stop until they had entered Megatron's room.

* * *

_It was chaos. His spark was falling apart falling apart He couldn't feel at all anything, couldn't breathe or breathe It made no sense no sense, he couldn't think couldn't feel and it was chaos it was falling apart_

_He wanted to see her again_

_He wanted her spark and her spark and her body and he wanted to see her_

_Again_

_Couldn't think for thinking's sake_

_Dark dark_

_It was so black_

_**Elita!**_

_Help me now falling apart it's falling apart_

_My spark it's falling apart_

_Help me, Elita…help…_

"Megatron?"

His optics came online abruptly, and he sat up straight, snapping his head around, hardly daring to believe…it couldn't be…

It was. Elita. Standing at his bedside, the picture of perfection. Beautiful and erotic and alluring. Elita One. He froze, taking her in; time seemed to slow. She hadn't changed. Her sad blue optics looked at him the same way, settled above the lovely curve of her cheek plates, brilliant and azure against her white faceplates. Her lips were settled into the familiar pout, parted slightly, as if she were about to speak--words of love or words of hate, he could never quite tell. Her neck still curved into her slender shoulders, her throat into her pretty breastplate. Her body still arced inwards, illuminating her thin waist and abdomen, illuminating her alluring hips, her long, curvaceous legs. Her hands traced his face with the same delicacy, the same tenderness. He reached out and touched her, ran his hand along the graceful arc of her back, briefly clutching the rounded perfection of her aft.

"Elita," he whispered, and suddenly he was kissing her, long and deep and loving. He felt her relax for a moment, but then she was gone, pulled away from him, her optics wide with fear.

"Don't," she murmured, shaking her head. "Don't! You broke our sparkbond! You don't have the right!"

"Calm down, Elita," Optimus said quietly from the corner, and Megatron was alerted to his brother's presense.

"You…You've healed?" Megatron whispered, his optics widening. "The virus…"

"Dispelled from my systems…thanks to you, it would appear," Optimus added, coming forward cautiously to stand behind Elita, discreetly placing a comforting hand on her back. His touch was warm in comparison to Megatron's, as it always had been.

Megatron lowered his head into his hands, weak with relief. "Thank Primus," he whispered. "I'm so sorry…Elita…that's why I did it. I made a deal with Alpha Trion. He told me if I broke my bond with you, he'd deliver the antivirus…oh, Lita, I'm so sorry!"

Elita flinched; her mech was crying. Her rightful sparkmate was sobbing weakly into his hands, his shoulders hunched with pain. He seemed so…mortal. So fragile, so breakable. Nothing like the godlike figure he was built up to be in her processor…in her spark.

She hesitated before moving back to him, wrapping her arms around him gently, holding him close. He clutched her like a sparkling to its mother, crying weakly into her shoulder. It hurt so much. His spark. It hurt so much without her there.

"I don't understand," Elita murmured, nuzzling him gently, trying to stem his tears. "Why would Trion propose something like that?"

"Because he's a mad old geezer," Optimus said scathingly. "The virus I had. I received it from Aerith."

Elita and Megatron stared (he'd stopped his crying, hating himself for his own momentary weakness). Optimus bowed his head slightly, inhaling deeply. "She transferred it to me--unintentionally, of course--before she…" His voice trailed off. He couldn't say it. Couldn't speak the words that christened his Aerith dead.

"You…even after you knew she had the viruses…you connected your system with hers?" Elita demanded, her voice rising a little.

Optimus looked up at her, his optics full of pain. Unspeakable, awful pain. "Elita. I loved her. I couldn't…I needed her before she…_left…_"

"So, what, you pinned her to your recharge berth?" she growled, getting to her feet. "Knowing full well that she carried viruses we couldn't cure, and you willingly linked up with her? She _let_ you?!"

"She tried to stop me, for my sake," he cut in sharply, his optics narrowing. "She tried to keep me away. She avoided me. She was scared to touch me, Elita, she couldn't stand to be near me! I couldn't…I couldn't bear to be away from her like that, I needed her! She was my everything!"

"You knew!" Elita snarled, advancing towards him. "You knew what could happen! But no, as usual you think with your fragging interface cable--"

"Aerith and I were never like that!" Optimus rumbled, towering above her. "Don't you dare imply--"

"I'm not _implying_ slag! I'm sure you and Aerith had your nice couple moments, when she wasn't fragging you out of your--"

"_Don't you speak badly of her!_" he hissed, his optics lighting up, reddening. "_Don't you __**dare**__ speak ill of my sparkmate!_"

"This is your fault!" she shouted, her processor erupting. Angry. Femme. "You interfaced with her even when you knew what could happen! You and your stupid mech urges nearly cost you your life! And instead, Megatron and I payed with our sparkbond! You think you have the right to step on something like that? I've lost my sparkmate! Do you have any idea what that's like?! How badly it hurts?!"

"Yes, I do!" he snarled at her, his armor swelling in sheer fury. "She was ten times the person, the lover, you could ever dream of being!"

"You're being irrational," she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. "Making false accusations. You don't know me that way!"

"And you don't know me…nor do you know Aerith," he hissed at her. "If either of you is a whorebot--"

"Shut up!" she screamed at him, but on the inside, her world shattered. _Whorebot_? That was how he thought of her? What the Pit was going on? Just a breem ago, they'd been fine…they'd been _in love…_

"Go," she snarled at him, her optics narrowing. "Get out. You stay the hell away from me."

"Done," he replied scathingly, then turned his attention to his younger brother. "I'll be back later. Stay safe, brother."

"You too," Megatron said faintly, shock still numb in his systems. He supposed he was furious with Optimus for talking to Elita that way (whorebot?!); then again, he was furious with Elita for talking to Optimus the way she had. He decided meekly to remain the third party. Some selfish part of his processor noted that they probably wouldn't be getting over this argument any time soon, so he had Elita all to himself, but he killed those thoughts quickly. He couldn't let himself think that way. Optimus and Elita were going to hurt for this one.

And once their anger cooled, it wouldn't take long for the pain to come.

* * *

Optimus's anger lasted him about to his quarters. It was at the door that it went out like a dying flame, so he rushed in and threw himself upon his recharge berth, burying his face into his headrest. Inhaling deeply, bracing himself, he let the pain in.

Regret and grief and sadness and hate and love engulfed him all at once; in hindsight, he wasn't so sure they weren't all one emotion. He tried to pick the mega-emotion apart, tried to discern one piece from another.

Regret. Whorebot. That's what he'd called her. He'd called his beloved Elita a _whorebot!_ He'd insulted her, hurt her in every way he could think of. "Idiot," he hissed, his hands tightening into fists. "Dammit! You fragging glitch head! You hurt her!" He hadn't meant what he said! Hadn't meant a word of it! Well, the bits about Aerith, yes, but--

And then the grief broke. His own anger at himself vanished, opening the sheer agony in his spark. Trembling slightly, he glanced to his right, staring at his partially vacant berth. Reaching out, he slowly ran a hand along the semi soft coverings…

_She stirred at his touch, his hand gently caressing the curves of her body. Her optics came online, and a smile lit up her face, warm and tender upon his own._

"_Morning," she whispered, lifting a hand to softly stroke his face. He halted his own caresses, leaning into her touch, holding her hand in his own, turning his face to kiss her palm. Her thumb traced his lips, and he pulled her close, kissing her gently, their lips moving together, deepening the kiss, their glossas searching one anothers' mouths. He drew back, remembering his interface system's annoying habit of coming on at inappropriate times. He didn't want lust to touch them now. He wanted her to know how much he loved her._

"_Did you dream last night?" she inquired, and he smiled._

"_Yes."_

"_What of?"_

"_You."_

_A slow blush crept over her face, and he chuckled, pulling her into his chest. "I love you."_

_She sighed sadly. "Optimus…"_

"_Shh. Don't. I don't care that I can't bond with you, alright? As far as I'm concerned, you are my sparkmate."_

"_I wish I could be," she whispered, winding her fingers with his. "But we…"_

"_Have forever," he replied, nuzzling her. "I'm yours. Forever, Aerith, I swear it…sweetspark."_

_She frowned. "Is it weird that I don't have a pet name for you?"_

_He laughed. "How about Sugarlips?"_

"_Um, no."_

"_Babyface?"_

"_Um, no?"_

"_Hon? Darling?"_

"_What is this, a sitcom?"_

_He laughed and rolled onto his back, rattling off pointless, absurd nicknames, all of which she discarded. He thought he had something to go on after "Oppy Bear," but all variations were shot down quickly. _

"_Oppy Poo."_

"_Oh, for the love of--"_

"_No, no, kidding…"_

"_How about perverted aft face?"_

"_But that's what Arcee calls Rodimus!"_

_She giggled, winding an arm around his waist and snuggling closer. "Oppy Bear…I don't know, maybe I could get used to it."_

"_Not in public," he warned, kissing her helm. "Never in public, sweetspark…"_

"_I know, love, I know…"_

Sadness. Primus, it was awful. Megatron had given everything. Everything! And it was all his fault…all his fault, for taking Aerith, connecting with her, even when he knew…and Primus, of course Megatron would go to any length to stop his brother's death, pay any price, even if it meant hurting the only femme he loved!

Hate. At that moment, Optimus hated everything. He hated Elita for what she'd said, he hated Megatron for his stupidity, he hated Trion for his betrayal, he hated Primus for taking his Aerith from him. Most of all, he hated himself. For everything.

And love. Love. So much of it, trapped in his spark, vibrating, so much it hurt. Love for his brother, who was willing to sacrifice his sparkbond for his elder brother's life. For Elita, the femme who had eased his pain. For Aerith. For Aerith, who'd saved him, given him everything, fallen in love with him, given herself to him, body and very nearly her spark.

"Same fragging emotion," Optimus muttered, sitting up and cradling his head in his hands. "Primus…"

Now what? He wasn't ready to confront Elita. Who knew how she was feeling? He wasn't sure he could forgive her just yet, either…she'd made preassumptions about Aerith. About Aerith, of all people! Nor could he bring himself to apologize…his pride couldn't handle that just yet. But of all the things to call her…

He shuttered his optics. He found himself thinking of their kiss. That first, precious kiss. She'd lifted him off the couch, brought him to the roof, spilled her spark to him. Kissed him. Kissed him, and it had been wonderful. He remembered their closeness in the lift; he remembered the way she looked up at him, delicately, in such a way that he couldn't return her gaze without seeing every curve of her erotic body. She'd made him feel tight in all the wrong places.

Still did, actually.

He mentally slapped himself; so far, her accusations of his inability to think beyond his interface cable were proving true.

And Primus damn him if he let her win now.

* * *

**Holy crap, eleven pages. O.O ya, I'm stopping now.**

**I didn't originally mean to have Opt and Lita fight--it just sort of happened. I'm actually a little happy they were both so hot headed today…it'll be a nice run in for my next evil plot. Mua ha ha ha.**

**Coming quite soon: A violent villain returns, and the identity of Aerith's corruptor is revealed. THE LITTLE SON OF A GLITCH IS STILL ALIVE?! We'll see about that…**

**Watched Titanic for the first time today. NOOOOOO! JAAAAAAACK! Sorry, done now. So sad when he fell into the ocean…I didn't cry until the very end when old Rose got up onto the railing again. So…sad…it almost got me, seeing that dead man floating in the water, clutching his infant child. Oh God…tearing up again…totally sad movie. Why would anyone pay to go see something that depressing in theatres?! I guess it's a good thing to do, raises awareness for the tragedy that occurred that day…but still. Afterwards I watched the Tudors (King Henry VIII) with my mom. Awesome series…totally hinky, but whatevs. :D **

**Sorry, sorry--done now!**


	10. Chapter 10

****

Chapter Ten

_Plenoptic_

**O.O whoa. Chapter ten? I don't know whether to say "already" or "about time"…Hm. Anyhoo, real sorry for Opt and Lita's butt headed behavior last chappie. Again, totally unintentional. But now, the most evil plot bunny EVER…mua ha ha. **

**Lots of corrections being made to past chapters. I'm discovering errors in my timeline. For clarification, Optimus and Megatron lost an older sibling when their parents died, and adopted Eclipse during their adulthood. We discover her fate in this chappy, actually.**

**Okay, massive updating spree here because I have a final to study for and I'll be gone for a good portion of June. So here's something for all of you to chew on while I'm gone. :D How serious is my final? I'm getting up at five thirty every morning and studying from about four to seven every night. That's not including weekends. So Plenoptic's losing her mind here. :D I'll be brainstorming the next chapter of NB over my recess.**

**New poll up--please take it just to make me feel wanted. :)**

* * *

**Pre Cybertronian War**

**BREAKING POINT**

**Passing of satellites; undetected**

**Lord Megatron, Commander Optimus Prime**

"He's been sighted."

It was all Prowl had to say. Optimus Prime was up, out of bed, barking out his orders to anyone in the halls. He needed his inner circle, he needed a briefing, he needed a sitrep. If Bloodlust was back, they didn't have time for mistakes.

"Alright. I want everything. What's going on? Where was he seen, and who saw him? What is their condition now? Did he attack?"

"We believe Bloodlust has moved a large quantity of his troops onto Cybertron, possibly in the hopes of upping the sheer gravity of his rebellion," Prowl explained, jogging to keep up with his leader's frantic pace as they gathered members of the inner circle. Elites. "He was seen near Polyhex, which is disturbing in and of itself if he's gotten so close to our base of operations. He was spotted by a cadet who recognized him from your description, which was distributed to patrols throughout Cybertron. Bloodlust did not seem to realize that he had been spotted; he was assisting a large number of his troops in stealing energon supplements from out stores in a bunker. After witnessing the theft, the cadet was quick to report to his officer, who reported to Rodimus, who reported to me."

Prime nodded vacantly, only half hearing what his tactician said; the point was that Bloodlust was roaming free. A small part of his processor quivered in terror; if he was honest with himself, he'd rather make love to Starscream than face the murderous rebel again.

It took three breems to assemble the necessary bots, after which Ironhide, Ratchet, Prowl, Jazz, Barricade, Soundwave, Rodimus, Elita, Chromia, Megatron, and Optimus Prime were crammed inside one tiny conference room, so tried for space that the femmes were actually sharing a chair. Ironhide had a tiny Bumblebee nestled comfortably on his lap; Optimus stroked the little mech's head before addressing his assembled troops. For just a moment, his optics found those of Elita One, but she broke her gaze quickly, instead staring at the table in front of her. Chromia patted her leg beneath said table, smiling sympathetically.

"Most of you were with me on Nebulon," Prime began quietly, instantly commanding the attention of everyone in the room. "Most of you remember what facing him was like. Most of you remember what happened."

A dark sort of silence filled the room; Optimus could feel the optics on the welding of his helm. His processor was finally on its game again, but that wasn't going to hide the scar. He inhaled deeply and continued.

"He's making an offensive move like none we've ever seen from a rebel. He's located here, on Cybertron, with more reinforcements than we care to count. We can't just ignore this one; Bloodlust has influence, and lots of it. We have to bring him down, and bring him down hard. He was spotted in Polyhex, so that's where we'll open the search. We're going to engage the rebels in any way we can. Cybertronian lives are on the line here.

"This mission will be completely voluntary, but we'll need all the help we can get. Inform trusted members of your units of the situation, and suggest that they participate. We'll be using the general army forces for this one, but we need officers to keep the men in line--"

"I'm in," Ironhide said flatly, startling the distraught young commander.

"Ditto," Rodimus chirped cheerfully, grinning.

"Me too," Jazz added, waving an arm around in the air.

There were several other murmurs of assent, murmurs of allegiance. Elita looked up cautiously and met Optimus's gaze (he shook himself, realizing he'd been staring at her) and nodded slowly; she was still furious with him, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to help. Surely they could be a little more mature than _that_.

That didn't make his spark hurt any less.

* * *

The tension was almost unbearable. They couldn't even be in the same room together, they couldn't meet one another's optics. Optimus entered the rec room, Megatron leapt to his feet and bolted. Megatron entered the command center, Elita sprang up and made up an urgent errand. Elita entered the rec room, dislodging Optimus, who would sprint for the command center, and a few moments later Megatron would be back in and collide with Elita as she scrambled for an exit. This continued for a good few breems one evening before Ratchet very kindly suggested that Optimus get some rest, and thankfully the cycle was thus broken.

"This is crazy," Chromia muttered, and Rodimus and Ironhide leaned in, nodding their agreement. The officer volunteers for the upcoming mission were all huddled together on the circle of couches in the rec room, passing around the high grade, discussing anything that came to mind. They generally tried to avoid the topic of Bloodlust, though the shadow weighed too heavily on their processors to escape notice completely.

"They just need to all sit down and talk this out," Jazz suggested. "You know, a little spark to spark."

"That'd go over well," Rodimus snorted, leaning back and propping his feet up on the table. "'Hey, Megs, sorry about stealing your sparkmate…' 'No, no, Oppy, not at all…and Lita, I'm real sorry about the whole bond-breaking thing…' 'Don't mention it. Oh yeah, Optimus, are you planning on fragging me out of my processor tonight or shall I make a date with Megatron?'"

"Rodimus!" Chromia yelped, horrified, and he winced.

"Okay, okay. Sorry, I went too far. Point is, they're not going to be able to just talk this out. Not all three of them, anyway. Someone's going to walk a very lonely road; only one of them can have Elita, ya know? And the other…"

"Sparkcrash or something," Springer sighed, nodding. "For sure. And there's nothing we can do, is there?"

"We shouldn't interfere," Prowl replied, absently sloshing his own mid-grade about in its container. "We could just wind up making matters that much worse."

"We could try and get Opt and Lita together in the shower," Rodimus suggested moodily.

"_Rodimus_!"

"Alright, sheesh--Opt and Megsy, then."

Chromia rolled her optics, exasperated. "You're incorrigible."

"Oh, frag, big word. Could ya dumb that down for me?"

"Unruly. Completely unmanageable. Sparkling-like in behavior. Utterly unchangeable."

"Ouch. My poor, youthful spark."

"I'm worried about them, though," Ratchet said, rubbing his helm anxiously. "As Rodimus said, three's a crowd; it's going to wind up badly for one of them."

"Maybe Optimus or Megatron will hook up with some other chick, and the other can have Elita," Rodimus suggested, his optics brightening.

"Would you please leave?" Chromia demanded.

Arcee approached them, sliding over the back of the couch to plop down next to Rodimus. He chirped his delight, promptly grabbing her by the hips and shifting her easily onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist and settled his chin on her shoulder, purring contentedly. "Dunno why Megs would give it up," he sighed, nuzzling Arcee's cheek. "I know I couldn't live without it."

"I'm not an 'it'," Arcee protested, but smiled, touched by the implications of her lover's words.

"Megatron broke his bond with Elita to save Optimus, smart aft," Ratchet said flatly. "He felt it was necessary."

"But Lita got hurt in the process," Rodimus protested quietly.

"So you'd rather see Optimus dead?" Prowl snapped.

"Of course not," Rodimus replied coldly, glaring at the tactician. "Look, there was no way to make this come out well, right? I'm just looking at the alternatives."

"While that's a good strategy, Rodi, we can't change the past," Ultra Magnus said sadly, cradling his chin in his palm, his optics dimming. "What's done is done."

A long silence followed his words. Rodimus wrapped his femme more securely in his lap, crossing his arms over her chest so she could lean into him more comfortably. "Wish we could help," she said mournfully, her blue optics heavy.

"We all do, Arcee," Magnus sighed. "We all do."

* * *

Optimus scrolled through the images on the photocube, his optics dimmed as he downloaded each picture into his processor, hiding the memories away. They flashed by so quickly he could barely register them; he and Aerith, Aerith with Chromia, he and Elita and Megatron, he and Bumblebee, Aerith and Bumblebee--

He froze the data replay there, admiring the image of two of the most precious sparks in the world. Bumblebee was on the ground, his little legs splayed out to either side, his faceplates determined and concentrated as he worked out some sort of puzzle Jetfire and Starscream had made for him. Aerith was curled up beside him, her arms around the little mech's chassis, her cheek plates pressed gently against his. Optimus remembered the day the image had been taken; he'd been holding the photocube, as it was one of Bee's favorite toys. He remembered tossing it from hand to hand, watching them play, when he'd snapped the picture on impulse. Aerith had been furious with him; Bumblebee had always been sensitive to flashing lights, even weak ones put off by photocubes, ever since he'd been taught that the bright illumination of the alarm lights signaled an emergency. The poor sparkling had been in tears by the time Aerith had finished chasing her naughty mech around his office, and Bumblebee had only stopped crying once Optimus dropped the cube into the trash unit, loudly declaring that he'd defeated it. Afterwards he'd had to sprint down three floors to retrieve the cube before Prowl ran the incinerator.

Optimus disconnected from the cube, his fingers trembling slightly. His world felt unstable, incomplete, without her in it. He was lonely, sad, heavy with grief, without her there to ease his pain. He missed her. He missed her smiling at him. He missed the way she laughed, how her small hand felt in his. He ached for her touch, he ached to pull her into bed with him and bind her spark to his. He desperately wanted to touch her, feel her, run his hands over her body, taste her lips.

Optimus realized, with a start, that he was thinking of Elita.

He sat bolt straight up, his pump hammering, panic washing over him. No. No! He'd allowed himself to fall in love with Elita--frankly, he couldn't help it--but she was not going to replace Aerith in his spark! No one could! He wanted his feelings for each to be distinguished, unique; he wanted to think of Aerith one way and Elita another. Aerith was his passion, his intimacy, his obsession, his undying love. Elita was--what? The same?

Optimus buried his face in his hands, shuttering his optics, giving in to the dark. It was so quiet, so calm. Yet also stormy and powerful, unstoppable. He glorified the order and wallowed in the chaos that was his own spark; basked in the light that was Elita and clung to the darkness Aerith had left behind. His spark was being ripped in two, in three, in four--between himself and Elita and Megatron and Aerith, what was left?

* * *

Megatron lay on his back, in the dark, on his recharge berth, in his quarters, in Iacon, on Cybertron, in the Praxis system, in the third rung of the Genesis Allied Galaxy…

He was memorizing it. Memorizing where he was and what he felt and who he was and what he was becoming at that precise moment. His spark was plagued with too many emotions to make any sense of, so he satisfied himself instead with his processor, running over statistics and information, running every byte of information he could dredge up--all of them, except those containing shattered fragments of his brother and sparkmate.

He lifted his optic covers. He couldn't shake Alpha Trion's words. They were there, imbedded in his very being, pulsing stronger with every beat of his spark, roaring with every thought that drifted in their direction. Terror welled up within him, and he did nothing to quell it. Good Primus, how he missed Elita. His spark felt so empty, so devoid of light, so bleak and hopeless. He hummed absently to himself; the song she'd sung softly to him night after night, lulling his aching processor into recharge, soothing his tormented spark.

He'd never felt pain like a broken sparkbond. It was terrifying, actually, to search his own spark and find only half of his very existence. He felt like his spark was split by a chasm; he stood on one end, shaded with grey, gazing across the gap and wondering what he'd find on the other side. However, he didn't dare come too close to the edge of the cliff--

He couldn't guarantee he wouldn't fall in.

* * *

Elita inhaled deeply, the chilly night air drowning her throat. She felt cold, inside and out, frozen. No Megatron inside, no Optimus outside. She half contemplated letting herself freeze to death, let herself be buried by the softly falling snow (which, she knew, was really frozen radioactive particles emitted by laser fire, but she stamped out her geek side for the time being). She wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't--not so long ago, her bond with Megatron was real. She'd been in love with him. Optimus was her friend. How could reality have reversed itself so quickly? How could she love Optimus with the same passion with which she loved her own sparkmate?

She shuttered her optics and tilted her head back, letting the snow caress her face, cold as Megatron's touch. Where was he now? What was he doing? Was he drowning in the same agony she was, trying desperately to tie the ends of their broken, bleeding bond?

And Optimus? What sort of memories was this whole ordeal stirring? What subtle emotion was his spark writhing in, subjected to the grief of losing one he loved yet again?

Was he thinking of Aerith?

Elita lifted her optic covers. From the tiny, cold corner of her spark, jealous rose tears in her throat. She didn't want Optimus to dwell on what was any longer. She wanted him to look ahead, look to the future she could provide for him. She wanted him to look at her and her alone.

And she hated herself for it. Optimus and Aerith hadn't been bonded, but they were sparkmates. Illogical though it was, it was the truth. It was the whole truth, the only truth that existed in their upside down world. That had been his Golden Age, the summit of his life, the light of his spark. That small amount of time he'd been given with Aerith.

Elita bowed her head, suddenly realizing how cold she was. She really was going to freeze if she stayed out here. It had been appealing a few moments ago, but now the thought of death slightly worried her (_slightly_), and she promptly turned and walked off the balcony and back into the warmth of her own quarters. She wasn't used to having her own room; she'd spent so much time in Megatron's, in her sparkmate's, nestled comfortably in his arms. A thin layer of dust had settled over many of her belongings; she'd spent the past orn wiping it off, with some assistance from Chromia and occasionally Ironhide (shockingly).

She curled up on her berth, wrapping herself in the thermal blankets, tangling herself within their confines. Her spark felt numb; too many feelings in too short a span of time. Her optic covers dropped, and one by one her systems shut down, her body relaxing. She allowed her processor to drift, thinking of her kinsparks.

She felt a sudden rush of desire course through her, and she groaned, gritting her dental plates, feeling more pathetic by the astrosecond. She needed to get her mind off of Optimus, needed to stop thinking of him, needed to ignore her own curiosity…

She wondered how deeply he kissed when passion got to him. She wondered if he was the type who groped. What his foreplay was like. How those large, warm hands would feel if they were running long caresses down her body. How it would feel to have his cable ease into her--or was he rough when it came to interface?

And what was it like to sparkbond with him?

Elita sat up and pressed her face into her hands, forcefully dragging her processor from the gutter. She needed to have her programming edited, that was it. Heaving herself off of the berth, she entered her wash room, working down her self-induced arousal and cursing herself for it. Adjusting the lubricant nozzle, she hit the control panel--

Nothing.

Confused, she hit it again. Again. It bleeped at her, and she growled in frustration. Some aft head had shut off her solvent lines!…Which wasn't surprising, seeing as she'd been with Megatron for so long. Snatching a towel out of its rack, grumbling to herself, she stalked out of her room and down two or so floors to the private wash racks; what did a femme have to do to take a fragging shower?!

She pushed open the door, suddenly curious; she'd never used the public racks before. The door opened up into a very small hallway; on either end sat the femme and mech rooms. And there, in between, was a separate door, emblazoned with the crest of the Golden Age. She stared at it dumbly for a second before realizing that it was the commanders' private stall. Thinking that maybe her venture hadn't been such a bad idea, she opened the door, revealing the spacious stall inside. Her optics widened; good Primus, it was twice as large as her own!

She closed the door and retracted her armor, setting the control panel to her likings before activating the solvent lines, and hot fluid poured out of the nozzle, dousing her bare protoform. She shuddered, relaxing into its warmth, allowing her processor to go blank…allowing herself to forget, even for a moment…

* * *

Grumbling, he tromped down the stairs, irritation pumping through him. Who the frag shut off his solvent lines?! If it was the twins…ooh, there would be Pit to pay!

The irate commander punched the door panel, walking into the commanders' wash room, flatly commanding the door to close. He groaned, spinning on his heel, reaching for the control panel--realized the solvent was already on--

Optimus Prime found himself face to face with a horrified, very naked, Elita One.

* * *

Her blue optics blinked lazily, her faceplates emotionless. Her pump chugged energon slowly through her wiring, trying in vain to fire up her processor; it never came easily for her. Engineering glitch.

At her side, her mate was stirring, his hand groping for her sleeping form beside him. His optics flickered online, and he looked up at her, frowning.

"Hey. You okay?"

She blinked slowly and looked down at him, and he laughed. "Oh. Still waking up?"

Her head bobbed up and down. A smile flickering to life across his handsome faceplates, he sat up, propping his head on his fists, his luminous optics turned towards her. She blinked suddenly and her gaze reasserted itself, settling on his face.

"Hi," she said, scooting away from him sub-consciously; it was a space bubble thing. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He grinned. "It's weird how you take forever to wake up."

"Well, excuse my weirdness," she grumped, scowling at him. She swung her legs off the berth, perfectly ready to leave him staring after her, but his hand closed gently over her upper arm. She suddenly found herself flat on her back, gazing up into his luminous optics, her lips meeting his soft smile.

"Wingsaber," she whispered, her body trembling slightly as his mouth separated from hers to close gently over her throat. She felt him bite down, and she whimpered. "S-Saber…"

"Want to?" he asked devilishly, one hand clutching at her breastplate.

"Saber…duties…"

"What? Work? Come on, you're no fun," he chuckled, nuzzling her throat. "When was the last time we got to have our special time?"

"Last night," she choked out accusingly. "Saber, please…"

He sighed and rolled away from her, his faceplates drawn into a pout. She sat up and smiled, running gentle fingers down his cheek. "Later, love. Tonight."

"Promise?" he asked, blinking up at her. She rolled her optics.

"Yeah, yeah, I promise."

Haven was a beautiful place to be when the sun was rising. Located at the lip of Cybertron's great acidic sea, it was a paradise of spiraling towers, steepled buildings, laughing voices--a paradise far from the rebels and the Senate and the High Council and her brothers' military. She leaned over the balcony of their living unit, smiling up into the sky. Wingsaber approached her, wrapping his arms around her waist and tucking his head against hers, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"…Will you come to Iacon with me?"

He blinked at her, rationally confused. "What?"

"Iacon," she replied, turning her head to meet his luminous gaze. "I told you my older brothers live there. Will you go with me?"

He snorted, lightly kissing her cheek. "What's all this 'will you go with me?' slag? You know I'd follow you to Pit and back, Commander."

She smiled, caressing his face. "Sure, sure…but I had to ask."

He nuzzled her softly, his voice lowering to a whisper. "I can't help being in love with you. I'll go wherever you happen to be, Eclipse…"

* * *

"…Uh. Oh, um…I…s-sorry…"

Optimus closed his mouth. He wasn't helping the situation, he could see it in her optics, in her horror-drawn face. At the same time, he felt a very uncomfortable tightness in between his legs--Pit, he couldn't move, couldn't squeeze another word out--his spark was racing--

Elita couldn't breathe, her head spun. She was swearing internally, she knew it, but her processor felt oddly blank, in such contrast to her searing spark. It was screaming at her, screaming at her to take him, make him hers, let him touch her and love her the way she desperately needed to be loved…

She bit her lip and lowered her head, the color rising in her cheek plates--shy?! Since when was she shy around any mech, let alone Optimus Prime? She heard him take a hesitant step forward, and she shuttered her optics, her spark flaring in her chest. A large, warm hand came to rest upon her face, tilting her head back; she opened her optics to meet his, quivering under his incredible gaze.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his thumb tracing lightly over her lips. "For everything."

She shook her head slowly, lifting one small hand to gently ease away his mask, exposing his handsome face to the hot solvent. "Shh…don't be. You didn't do anything wrong…"

"I hurt you," he whispered, his hand catching hers. "There's nothing more wrong in this world."

The solvent fell upon him, dripping down his foreplate, soft streams running off his lips, puddling on the rim of his broad chest plates. Trembling, she took his face in her hands, cradling him, touching her forehead to his. He forgot how to breathe.

He placed his hands on the wall behind her, his optics intent upon hers. Nodding to let him know it was okay, she pulled him closer, so close their bodies touched, his hot armored form pressing sensually against her protoform. He tilted his head, letting a soft kiss fall upon her lips, one hand resting upon the small of her back to pull her closer. Her fingers gently brushed the length of his chest plate, small droplets of solvent breaking free of the ridges of his armor. He gazed down at her, his optics covers blinking slowly.

"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly, stroking her cheek. "For what I said to you. My spark hasn't stopped aching since."

"Nor has mine," she agreed, wrapping her delicate female arms around his waist, snuggling into his body. She felt a shock run through his system before his arms cautiously came around her, cuddling her into his warm embrace. "I need to apologize too. For what I said about…about you and Aerith. I know I hurt you, too."

"…Elita?"

"Mm?"

"Do you remember what I asked you once?"

"Clarify, please?"

"When I asked you about how you'd feel, what you'd do, if Megatron didn't exist." She turned her head to look at him, her blue optics full of pain. "If there was nothing in this world but you and me," he whispered, cupping her cheek, drawing her face to his. "What would you say?"

"I love you," she breathed, her arms tightening around him. She was losing herself to him. Losing her spark.

"And if Megatron did exist?" he smiled weakly. "If we really were in a public wash rack with a lot of mechs running around outside these doors? Then what would you have to say?"

"I love you," she repeated, and she buried her lips against his, kissing him hard, falling for him all over again. He kissed her back--no hesitation, no regret. Her lips parted, his glossa moved past the opened boundary, dipping into her mouth, dancing with hers, drawing long, needy gasps from the back of her throat. She didn't remember the last time she'd been kissed like this. She'd forgotten what it was like to love so deeply, so passionately, so completely.

So lost was she in his warmth that she almost forgot she was totally naked.

Almost.

He didn't. He was very acutely aware of the fact, actually, and it wasn't at all helping his growing arousal. He was afraid to move his arms from around her, but he wanted too badly to touch her, so he continued to kiss her, long and loving, torn on the inside.

"Optimus," she whispered, her lips speaking the words against his. He blinked his optics open, looking down at her, somewhat cross-eyed as she was still so close. She bit down her giggle rather unsuccessfully but was quick to kiss him once more, bring back his passion. "Optimus, it's…it's okay."

His optics lingered on her face, wary. "Elita…maybe we shouldn't."

"And maybe we should," she murmured, nuzzling his cheek. Then her voice took on a tone that was almost a growl, a soft feminine hiss in his audio receptor. "Optimus…_touch me_."

He hesitated, cautious, before moving back from her a bit, his optics dropping from hers to survey her lithe form. A rush of shyness ran through her; she hunched her shoulders a little, dipped her chin, wrapping her arms around herself. He shook his head slowly, taking hold of her wrists and gently pinning her arms to her sides, but found he didn't like that position; her body was still too hidden, too secret. He bent her arms slowly, cautiously, holding her wrists against the wall closer to her head. She trembled, her back arching instinctively, and she heard Optimus's intakes hitch. She understood only too well; she wanted it too. She wanted _him_.

Optimus's optics roved over her--not lecherous in any way, more appreciative. "You're beautiful, 'Lita," he murmured, shaking his head slowly. He'd always thought her armor to be tight; he saw now that he was wrong. It was loose, hiding the deep, graceful curves of her body, the way she simply flowed together, an erotic piece of art.

His hand lifted, paused, and he wondered where he was supposed to touch her first. He consented to caress her cheek, but her optics were dissatisfied, needing more. He trailed his fingertips down the side of her throat, and she purred; that was better. He paused at the base of her neck, debating again, but his palm found the smooth downward curve of her shoulder, and he followed it down her arm, finding her small hand, brushing her delicate fingers. His hand came back up, and he ran the back of one curled finger up and down her throat, watching the way she trembled at the sensual touch. He hesitated for only a moment before running a hand down the upper of her chest, sloping sideways to feel the rounded perfection of her breasts. A long moan was wrenched from her throat at each stroke of his fingers, each cup of his palm.

"Optimus," she hissed, a shudder tearing through her when he moved closer, both hands focused exclusively on her chest. "Ah…O-Optimus…"

"You're beautiful," he murmured once more, his optics wide with wonder. "You're perfect…"

His hands moved down, feeling every curve and incline of her body. Her spark was screaming at her, her body desperately trying to arch into him, but she managed to restrain herself. His touch was so wonderful, so devoid of lust that it was spark-breaking. With a painful jolt she realized that he hadn't felt this sort of intimacy since before Aerith's death--over two vorns. Her hand gently caressed his audio receptor; he hadn't been _loved _in over two vorns.

He was entranced by her lower body, swept away by the way her chest curved so alluringly into her narrow waist, flared back out into her erotic hips; he had stopped breathing again. Elita was panting, passion rolling through her in waves; she moaned, her hands clutching his shoulders.

"Optimus," she gasped weakly, her optic covers fluttering. "Optimus, lower…"

He froze; lower than her hips? What…His spark stopped pulsing for a moment. Oh. Trembling, he lowered his right hand to cup her crotch, and a soft cry rolled from her throat. His fingers stroked and prodded, feeling her, marveling at her size; that was going to be a very tight fit.

"Come to bed with me," he said suddenly, looking at her, his hands pausing in their search.

She quivered and managed to turn her clouded gaze up at him, her intakes heaving. "Wh-What?"

"Come to bed with me," he repeated perfectly, removing his hands from her sensitive areas and wrapping his arms instead around her waist, drawing her close. "Let me show you how much I love you."

She frowned; the mere indications of such actions were stirring up some very painful memories. Incidents that had led her to kiss Optimus Prime to begin with.

"Please," he begged softly, nuzzling her cheek, enjoying the feel of her arms around his neck. "I won't be rough. I won't hurt you--good Primus, Pit take me if I ever hurt you again. Please, Elita…"

Her optics softened, beginning to accept, beginning to believe. He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing her full lips. "I don't remember how to love this much," he whispered. "Show me how?"

She nodded, leaning forward to kiss him gently. He shuttered his optics, returning it in full, rocking her in his arms. "Sure, sure," she murmured, pulling her mouth from his. "Absolutely. Just…let's not leave the shower at the same time, hm?"

* * *

"This isn't going to be a Nebulon repeat, is it? I don't think I can handle it," Elita said flatly, picking up the data pad on the desk between them and beginning to download its contents. "Do we actually have a plan this time?"

"We had a plan on Nebulon, too," Optimus defended, scowling at her.

"Oh yeah? And what was that?"

"Rush in and do as much damage as possible?" Rodimus suggested in an undertone, and Elita snorted. Optimus glared at his sub-commander.

"Thank you so much for your support, Rodimus," he said dryly.

"Don't mention it," the younger mech yawned, swapping Elita data pads. "Nice to see you two speaking to one another, by the way; can I assume you've made up with Megs, as well?"

Optimus and Elita glanced uncomfortably at one another, their little "session" still blazing hot in their processors. Neither could deny that they'd overdone it just a little; they were both sore this morning. All over. Half of it had been painful for Elita, in any case--Optimus's assets were considerably larger than his brother's. Her port had had to reformat to accommodate him. She didn't really mind, looking at it in hindsight; Optimus was going to be the only one taking off her crotch plating from here on out.

"Nope, still have some amends to make with Megatron," she said, trying her best to sound as if it wasn't tearing her apart on the inside and failing horribly. Rodimus reached across the desk and gave her hand a quick squeeze before returning to his data pad. She smiled before turning to her lover.

"Okay, so. Plan?"

"Go in hard and fast," Optimus replied, tossing her the fiftieth or so data pad. Prowl, apparently, had overdone it last night, as well. "If we look at the records of Bloodlust's little exploits, there's a distinct pattern; he assumes too much. He underestimates opponents if he's defeated them once. There's a good chance he won't expect me to retaliate so quickly."

"By good chance you mean…?"

"Fifty-one to forty-nine in our favor," Rodimus said loudly, and Optimus threw a data pad at him. "Ouch. That hurt. Just in case you care, or something."

Elita sighed, taking Optimus's large hands in her own; the difference was incredible, yet her hands seemed to belong there, alongside his. "I can't talk you out of this, can I?"

"Innocent Cybertronians are dying, Elita," he replied softly, lifting one hand to brush her faceplates affectionately. "I have to go. I swore myself to them."

She nodded. "I know. I love it about you." Her cheeks colored, and she dipped her head. Chuckling, he leaned closer to her, and after a moment's deliberation she pressed a soft kiss to his mask.

Someone cleared their throat from the door, and the lovers separated immediately, turning to see Megatron standing just inside the room, the look of momentary pain sliding from his face the moment they met his gaze. "Prowl said you had begun planning the mission," he said, his voice carefully emotionless, but not unkind. "I was hoping you'd let me in on this one."

"Of course," Optimus said hurriedly, and both he and Rodimus cleared a chair of a pile of data pads, picking through them to find the important ones. "Have a seat, we'll go over it…"

Megatron sank down somewhat reluctantly, his spark still constricted painfully. As his brother launched into the mission plans, Megatron chanced a glance upwards at Elita. She'd gotten to her feet and was looking over Optimus's shoulder at his data readout, her beautiful faceplates drawn in concentration. One hand absently caressed his audio receptors.

Megatron's spark sank in his chest, and he swallowed painfully. So it was official then? Elita had fallen in love with Optimus? His sparkmate had been taken by another--no, by his own brother? He remembered, quite vividly, when Elita had touched _him_ like that…stroked him so affectionately, with so much love in her optics, the soft smile lighting up her beautiful face. Now regret was writhing in his spark, watching the femme he loved devote herself to Optimus…regret was there, awful and dark…he was beginning to wish he hadn't made the deal with Alpha Trion…

Megatron sprang to his feet, toppling his chair, and his companions all jumped (Rodimus fell off of his seat).

"Megatron?" Elita inquired, her optics bright with concern. "Are you--?"

"Shut up, Elita," he snarled.

She drew back, her optics widening. In an instant, Optimus and Rodimus were on their feet, Prime's armor swelling and his optics darkening.

"Don't you speak to her that way," he growled, shifting to move in front of his femme.

"She's my sparkmate, I'll do what I want," Megatron replied in a hiss, his optics narrowing.

Elita shook her head slowly, her optics welling with tears. "Oh, please…Megatron, no…don't do this…"

He gave her but one cold glare before turning on his heel. "I'm leaving. I need to get out of here. I can't take this any more!"

"Megatron," she gasped, reaching for him, but Optimus threw out an arm, catching her easily. "Megatron, wait! Go now if you have to, but…but please tell me you'll come back!"

Megatron paused, glancing over his shoulder at her, staring into her pleading, desperate optics. To her question, he had no reply. He didn't want to hurt her. Good Primus, he hated the way she looked at him now, her optics so full of pain. But if she truly chose Optimus, then there was nothing more he could do.

He left.

* * *

"Optimus, sir? Prowl said it was your turn for sparkling duty."

Optimus Prime glanced up from his work and smiled. "Hello Jazz, Bumblebee. Yes, you can set him down right there…"

The saboteur obeyed, blowing a raspberry against the sparkling's stomach plates before plopping him down on the ground next to his rather towering stack of puzzles in the corner of Optimus's office. He saluted briefly before turning on his heel and leaving, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Prime bent back over, his optic ridges drawing together. Mission plans…Primus, he hated this part. Too much thinking to be done. It really was better left to capable mechs like Prowl. He sighed, reaching over to access his computer database, when he felt a tug on his leg armor. Peering down, he chuckled to see Bumblebee beneath the desk, wide blue optics pleading up at him.

"You want to play?" Optimus inquired. The little head bobbed up and down. Prime slid his hands beneath the child's arms, lifting him up and away from the desk. "You're getting big, aren't you?" he laughed, tossing the sparkling up in the air. Bee giggled, kicking his tiny legs every which way. "An old mech like me might not be able to carry you much longer. Too creaky, not enough lubricants. Do you want to do a puzzle?"

The sparkling chirped his consent, reaching into the middle of the stack and wrenching one out. He squeaked in surprise when all those on top came tumbling down, showering him with puzzle pieces. His lower lip trembled, and he looked up at Optimus, blue optics full of tears, perfectly ready for a scolding.

Optimus didn't have it in him. He could never bring himself to scold the sparkling. Instead, he scooped Bumblebee into his arms, tickling his sensitive side panels. Bee shrieked, giggling madly, wrapping his tiny arms around his guardian's neck. "You didn't know any better, did you?" Prime asked quietly, smiling against Bee's bright helm. "You didn't know, little one…"

He situated his hands beneath Bumblebee's arm pits, lifting the little mech above his head. The sparkling warbled, his optics blinking in confusion; what was Optimus doing? He squirmed, whimpering his distaste; he didn't like it up here!

Optimus watched the child, his blue optics suddenly so filled with pain that Bee simpered quietly, reaching out to pat his mammoth guardian's faceplates. Optimus was sad?

With a sigh, Prime drew the sparkling close, pressing his foreplates to Bumblebee's. "You lucky thing, you," he murmured, kissing Bumblebee's noseplates. "Aerith…he's got your eyes."

* * *

**At this point you should be saying "WHAT?!" If ya liked it, please review. Thankies! :D **


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_Plenoptic_

**I wonder about the effects of mass updating on reviews. It's like "Oh, I'll just leave a big review at the end." NO! THAT SUCKS! I like lotsa reviews...(whimper)**

**My friend and I found the Japanese theme song for Kingdom Hearts on iTunes. Just search "Utada" and it's called "Passion" by Utada Hikaru. There's actually a lot of foreign music on iTunes…I sort of knew there was, I just had trouble finding it. Anyone know of any really good Japanese artists? I'd like to hear L'ArcenCiel's work.**

**Does anyone know how to get 'READY STEADY GO' from Full Metal Alchemist off of iTunes? The purity of my soul depends on it.**

* * *

**Pre War**

**Megatron, Optimus Prime**

The transport was fast, screaming along Cybertron's vast underground networks, but its occupants were terrified enough to not feel it jolt and shudder along the rails. Optimus Prime, Elita One, Prowl, Rodimus, and Ultra Magnus sat together in an eerily perfect silence. Elita was curled in Optimus's lap, her small hands clutching him, her breath fogging his chest plates. He held her close, his arms wrapped around her petite form, his cheek resting against her helm and his luminous blue optics glaring at the opposing wall. The group was in full battle armor, weapons resting in holsters around their hips rather than in subspace--time would be a luxury they wouldn't have on the field.

Rodimus was rotating a small polished gem stone in his hand, muttering to himself; the stone was a bright pink--the same hue as Arcee's armor. Carrying it had become a sort of sub-conscious habit for him, and he was a bit embarrassed by it. But out there, on the field, he needed something to hold on to.

Ultra Magnus was talking to himself as well, cursing randomly under his breath, chewing on the inside of his mouth. He didn't like this mission at all. They were much better prepared this time, much more ready to face the rebels, but he still didn't like it. He didn't like the fact that Elita had insisted on coming, either; the sight of her curled in her lover's arms, her body twice its normal size due to the extensive battle armor, made his spark scream in fear. He just didn't like the thought of femmes getting hurt.

"Someone please talk," Rodimus blurted out, looking around at his companions. "Please? The tension's killlilng me, I swear."

"What do you want us to say?" Optimus inquired softly, looking up at his younger comrade. Rodimus felt a pang in his spark, remembering the words Megatron had spoken to him not so long ago: _You're like the son he and Aerith weren't able to have…_

"Anything," Rodimus said desperately, looking down at the gemstone still clutched in his hand. "Someone just tell me it'll all be okay."

"It'll all be okay," Elita whispered, and Rodimus drew his gaze up to meet her calm blue optics. She smiled confidently. "It's going to be alright, Rodimus. We'll get through this. We always do."

He bit his lip, willing his spark to believe her. She shuttered her optics and snuggled back into Optimus's chest with a soft sigh. He tightened his arms around her, his optics gazing affectionately down at her, the spark he'd fought so hard to capture. "Hey, Magnus."

Said mech looked up. "Yes, Optimus?"

Prime grinned at his friend, winking one optic. "When we get back, what do you say I get you hooked up?"

Magnus scowled darkly. "I can get femmes on my own, thank you very much. I don't need a chick magnet getting them for me."

"Hey, sounds fun," Rodimus said, a grin ripping his faceplates open. "We'll get Mags a femme, I'll bring Arcee to Iacon, Optimus and Lita can seal the deal, and we'll all go clubbing. Sound fun?"

"No," Ultra Magnus said flatly, ignoring his younger comrade when Rodimus tried to sway him. Optimus gently tightened his arms around his femme, tucking his head against hers; he'd felt the shiver of apprehension that tore through her at Rodimus's suggestion. She wasn't ready to "seal the deal" again. She and Megatron had "sealed the deal" and everything had promptly fallen apart. And she'd lost her sparkmate in the process.

"It's okay," he whispered, his arms and spark a fortress around her, blocking out the pain. "You come to me when you're ready."

She chewed her lip. "Does that mean you want to bond?"

He nodded slowly, stroking her cheek affectionately. The three other occupants in the transport were wise enough to continue with their pointless bickering, giving the lovers a moment of privacy, emotionally if not physically. "I know what it feels like to be unable to bond with the one you love. I don't want to feel it again. It hurts too much, Lita. And I don't want to hurt around you. I don't want to cause you any more pain."

She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close. His selfless words made her throat ache. She wanted so desperately to love him. She wanted to give him pleasure and relief and comfort whenever he needed it. He hadn't had anyone to lean on in two vorns; he was overdue for a savior. He had been broken and bleeding for two long, cold vorns--wasn't it time for Primus to let him be healed?

The transport jerked to an abrupt stop, throwing five very confused bots from their seats. Elita was launched from Optimus's arms, and was caught quickly by Rodimus; Optimus and Ultra Magnus sprawled over one another, and Prowl's face hit the floor with a clang.

"_Ow_," he grumbled, sitting up and clutching his leaking noseplates. "Pit, that hurt…everyone okay?"

"I think we're good," Optimus rumbled, sitting up. His optics blinked in the sudden darkness, and he swore; the lights had fizzled out. "What's happening?"

"No idea," Rodimus replied, gentlemanly guiding Elita back into Optimus's safe embrace (as much as he enjoyed having a sexy femme laid out in his lap, but he had Arcee for that, and she was a lot less likely to shoot off his interface than Elita was). "Prowly, you okay over there? I heard something go splat."

"Don't call me Prowly!"

"Yeah, he's okay," Ultra Magnus said smoothly, his hands running over the walls surrounding the door. "Someone help me find the--ah, there we go." He ripped open the control panel and felt around for another moment before guessing on a switch; miraculously, the emergency lights came on. Elita yelped and squirmed over the confused mechs on the floor to lean towards Prowl; energon was leaking out of his smashed noseplates.

"Let's get outside," Optimus advised, helping Rodimus out and carefully feeling the crack between the doors. They'd been jarred slightly, leaving a tiny amount of space between them, which he slotted his fingers into with some difficulty. With a grunt he pulled, and the doors swung to the sides on their rails in a shower of sparks. Optimus stepped out, accompanied by the others, to survey the damage outside--only to find that there was none. The railcar had simply stopped seemingly of its own accord.

"What the Pit?" Rodimus said, placing his hands on his hips. "This is weird. And I hate it here, by the way."

Elita wrinkled up her noseplates; she hated it too. The tunnel in which the rails ran was dark and wet, and the odor was horrendous. Her head suddenly snapped around, in the direction their car had come, and her optics narrowed. "Listen," she hissed, and her debating companions fell silent at once. From further down the tunnel came a very slight whistling sound--something moving towards them, fast.

"Frag!" Optimus swore, abruptly scooping her into his arms and retreating towards the far wall. "That's the other car! Move, all of you!"

The other three rushed towards them, and Optimus turned to pin Elita between himself and the wall just as the second car whipped around the corner. It collided with theirs in an explosion of sparks and shrieking metal; Optimus angled his shoulders to shield Elita as debris erupted in all directions. On instinct he reached out with one arm and seized Rodimus by the shoulder, dragging him closer to cover his protégé alongside Elita. Rodimus yelped at abruptly being dragged so close to the shaken femme.

Optimus flinched; hot shards of metal were hitting his back, sending little shivers of pain through his neural system. A big one would impale him if he wasn't careful. An explosion of pain ripped through his right shoulder, and he gritted his dental plates.

The debris settled at last, and Optimus risked uncovering his charges to glance over his uninjured shoulder, squinting through the dark to view the wreckage. The second car had rear-ended theirs, smashing partially through and crushing itself out of shape in the process. Small flames licked up from the damp floor of the tunnel, casting soft light upon the unfortunate vehicles.

The door of the destroyed transport was abruptly blown out, narrowly missing the stunned threesome huddled against the wall. From the car stepped Ironhide, looking disgruntled and furious, his blue optics blinking around in the dim light.

"What the Pit just happened?!" he demanded in a roar. Optimus breathed a sigh of relief and released Rodimus and Elita, clutching at his searing shoulder. He could feel hot energon trickling down his back.

"Is everone alright?" Prowl demanded, rushing forward to the second car. Its occupants were stumbling out the destroyed doorway at Ironhide's less-than-gentle urging. Relief flooded Optimus when he recognized the car as the one carrying another portion of his inner circle.

"Oy! Rodimus!" Springer shouted, stumbling from the car and carefully avoiding Ironhide's shoving hands. "Are you guys okay?"

"Yeah, yeah--we were out of the car before you hit us," Rodimus replied, moving forward to greet his friend. "Dude, are you okay?"

"Ya, I'm fine," Springer replied, rubbing his helm. "Pit, what's happening? Why'd your car stop?"

"We haven't the slightest idea," Magnus replied, joining his younger comrades. "It jolted to a stop all of the sudden. Smashed Prowl's face in, too. Aren't there other cars coming?"

"Yeah, tons," Springer said, frowning. "Pit. We were gonna use this rail to transport almost a fourth of the troops to Polyhex to keep the rebels from getting too suspicious. Now what?"

"We have to find a way to stop the cars from coming," Magnus said, rubbing his chin. "Optimus! Any ideas? Hey--whoa! Optimus, what's wrong?"

Rodimus and Springer turned to find their leader crouched on one knee, his faceplates twisted in pain and his hand clutching at his right shoulder. "Shrapnel," the commander grunted weakly. "It's lodged in the joint…hit my neural receptors, I think…"

"Ow," Springer grimaced as they knelt beside him. "Hey, Ironhide! Is Ratch on that car?"

"Nah," the weapons specialist replied, guiding Chromia away from the car. "Why? Someone hurt?"

"Ya…Optimus got--"

Ironhide shoved the Triple Changer out of the way (Springer squawked) and seized Optimus's chin in one hand, tilting his friend's head towards him. "Are you conscious?" he demanded, and Prime nodded, the movement somewhat restricted by Ironhide's colossal hand. "Can you speak?"

"Yes," Optimus said clearly, and Ironhide breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay, okay. Where's it hurt?"

Optimus grimaced as Ironhide's hand brushed over the open, bleeding wound in his back. "It's inside my shoulder, and…all throughout here…" He made a sweeping motion over his chest and across his left shoulder.

Ironhide nodded gruffly, helping Optimus to his feet. "Yeah, it hit a neural passage. We're gonna try to get it out, okay? Elita, Chromia! C'mere…"

Said femmes rushed over, and Elita's optics widened at Optimus's sagging form. "What the--? Optimus? What's wrong?"

"Shrapnel wound," Ironhide said, tugging his ailing leader towards the femmes. "You two have the smallest fingers, you might be able to get in and pull it out. We can fill the wound with porous gel, it'll ease the neural transmitters, and wrap it up with mesh or something. Best we can do without the Hatchet here.Optimus, sit down and bend forward, atta boy. Elita, could you hold on to him or something? It's gonna hurt. Right, Chromia…"

Elita knelt before her lover and wrapped her arms around his chest, cradling his head in the gap between her neck and shoulder. "It's only going to hurt for a second," she assured him in a whisper, softly kissing his cheek. "Here, you know what? Hold my hand, and just squeeze as hard as it hurts, okay?"

He nodded slowly; she could feel him bracing himself. Chromia, meanwhile, was leaning over him, her fingers brushing oozing energon from his wound. It was going to be tough; the shrapnel had entered at an angle, so the injury was partially covered by his shoulder blade armor.

"Roll your right shoulder forward," she instructed, and a grimacing Optimus did as he was told, his fingers tightening around Elita's. "There we go, that's a lot better…do we have a tool or something?"

Optimus groaned when Sunstreaker eagerly answered, coming forth with a scalpel-like tool he used in his sculpting. Chromia accepted it with a quick thank you before turning back to Optimus. "Sorry about this," she muttered, using it to carefully pry away damaged, bleeding wiring. "I'm no Ratchet."

"I can tell," Optimus grunted; her poking and prodding hurt just as much as the wound itself. "Ouch! Can you please just do it quickly?"

"Do we have pliers?" she shouted over her shoulder, and Optimus gritted his dental plates, feeling betrayed by Jetfire and Starscream's quick answer. The scalpel returned to its prodding, and Optimus found himself clutching Elita for support. He was usually offline when Ratchet had to go poking around in his wounds, and Chromia's inexperienced hands weren't making the situation any more durable. On the other hand, he liked being able to hold Elita. Her lithe warm body felt good against his, in spite of all the battle armor they wore. He felt a sort of arousal in the back of his processor, but it was forgotten when the pliers abruptly went in, and he heard a click when they latched carefully around the damnable piece of metal in his shoulder.

"Got it," Chromia muttered, her optics crossed with concentration. How did she do this? Just pull the little bugger out? She considered wriggling it around a little bit, but thought better of doing so; that would probably hurt a lot. Inhaling deeply and silently apologizing to Optimus, she pulled back, beginning to ease the shrapnel free.

He gasped, his arm tightening around Elita's waist, and his fingers squeezed hers so hard she winced. She didn't pull away for a moment, however; he'd obtained the wound protecting her, and Pit take her if she wasn't there for him now.

"Ha," Chromia murmured, a slow grin spreading across her face. "Almost there, almost there…just hang on a moment longer, Optimus, I know it--Oh! Got it!"

She dropped the pliers, and the innocent-looking shard of metal clicked to the floor. Optimus moaned, feeling the fresh rush of energon down his back; the wound was on fire, searing him with pain. Ironhide came forward quickly, unloading basic medical supplies from his subspace. The gel he squeezed into the wound helped, easing the burning pain, and Optimus felt relief across his chest as well as the circuitry calmed down. Elita sat him up gently as Ironhide wrapped the wound with mesh, relief flooding her systems when Optimus grinned weakly at her.

"Not bad for my first surgery," Chromia chirped, grinning like a madman. "Ha! I rock! You okay there, big guy?"

"I'm fine," he replied, then scowled. "As for your surgery, I think you could use a little training…"

"I'd like to see you do better," she chided, but she smiled and hugged him all the same.

* * *

"We've got to keep the other cars from coming," Prowl told the assembled troops, as they had gathered around him and their recuperating leader. "We'll have a mass accident if we don't, and we can't afford to get uncoordinated now. We were lucky to escape this crash with only one casualty…"

"We would have been _lucky_ to get off with no casualties at all," Elita said pointedly, scowling at Prowl. "I don't think we're _lucky_ at all to have Optimus get hurt."

"It could have been much worse," Prowl said coolly, meeting her gaze confidently. "What if Optimus had been behind our car, trying to push it?"

"I'm not _that_ stupid," Optimus grumped, and a nervous sort of laugh ran through the assembled troops; even the very tense Prowl and Elita relaxed once more, shooting one another apologetic glances. They were both the type to get snappish under pressure.

"We still need a plan," Ultra Magnus said, reiging in the group. "Let's start with some explanations. Jetfire, Starscream. Why did our car stop so suddenly, at none of our discretion?"

"Mag field," Starscream chirped easily, and Jetfire scowled, beaten to the punch. "The rebels are probably broadcasting one from the surface. They shoot out this non-localized magnetic field--sort of like an anti-tech wall--and it short-circuits any electrical device that hits it by scrambling the electron flow with a high-concentration of protons."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Elita said, frowning. "If it disrupts electron flow, some of our primary functions would be taken out, wouldn't they?"

"Sure, but like Screamer said, the broadcast is coming from the surface," Jetfire quipped. "It's too far away, it'll only hit the really prominent flows. We have only minute electron streams buried within our circuitry, so we got out unaffected."

"So we can't take the monorail past here," Prowl said, frowning. "Do we take the rest on foot?"

"No way," Starscream said dismissively. "These underground rails are spread all throughout Cybertron--who knows where we might wind up?"

"We need a plan," Optimus rumbled, rubbing the bridge of his noseplates. "I don't care what it is, I don't care how drastic. We have to stop those other cars from arriving. We have to get out of here. How can we do both without getting ourselves killed?"

Starscream and Jetfire looked at one another, obviously searching for answers in one anothers' optics. The rest of the group sat in silence, tense and scared; the scientists were the only ones capable of figuring this out. And they were running out of time.

"How many more cars are coming?" Starscream asked, looking at Prowl.

The tactician frowned. "Um…around ten? Fifteen? I'm not sure, Jazz planned it."

Jetfire snorted. "Good thinking. Let _Jazz_ plan it."

Prowl stiffened. "Jazz, though blatantly immature at times, is a highly efficient officer, Jetfire," he said coolly. "He also outranks you. I'll anticipate a little more respect from you in the future."

There was a long silence. Elita swallowed nervously, hoping against hope that they weren't going to fight. They had bigger problems…

"Aw, shucks, Prowly. Didn't know ya cared _that_ much."

Prowl whipped around so fast he nearly fell over, and Jetfire and Starscream's mouths dropped open. Jazz was striding towards them, arms folded over his chest, a smug grin claiming his face.

"And I am _not_ immature," he added, then promptly stuck his glossa out at Prowl. "Pooface."

"…_Jazz_?"

"Jazz?!"

"What the Pit are you doing here?!"

The saboteur looked hurt. "What? You guys don't want me here?"

"That's not it!" Prowl said quickly, reaching out and seizing the saboteur's arm when he turned away. "Stop fragging around! How did you _get_ here?"

"Took a monorail, duh," Jazz snorted, cocking an optic ridge. "What else?"

"No, I mean--you didn't crash into our stopped cars?"

"Um, no. Should we have? I don't get how that would help the mission, Prowly."

"Don't call me that!"

"Whatever, Prowler."

"That's not any better!!"

"Well, make up your mind, already!"

"Jazz," Optimus cut in, getting to his feet and striding towards the short mech. "Please tell us what's going on. Did you find out about the mag field?"

Jazz grinned. "Yup. See, when I was planning this mission, I had Wheeljack do a little _updating _on the cars we'd be taking. He put motion sensors in all of them. When I saw that two cars had stopped moving, I assumed the worst and stopped ours at a safe distance. Then I just popped my cute little aft out and started walking. Pretty smart, though, huh?"

"You had _Wheeljack_ do it?" Jetfire blurted.

"What's wrong with _us_?" Starscreamer added.

Jazz snorted. "I don't trust you two, quite frankly. You argue too much over your experiments. Jack just knows how to get stuff done, ya know?"

Starscream and Jetfire looked at one another, aghast, and Prowl felt a small twinge of triumph; the scientists had been overdue for a little ego deflation.

"So, anyway," Jazz went on, waving one dismissive hand. "I went ahead and sent transmissions to all of the other cars. They've all stopped, their occupants will be joining us by foot. Until then, I suggest we all get some rest, eh…?"

* * *

In the sleep that enveloped her, wrapped so securely in her lover's arms, Elita dreamed for the first time in a long time…maybe hearing so much of Optimus's past had made her want to take a second look at her own…

* * *

**Next chapter…flashback looks at Elita's past. We've heard all about Optimus and Aerith, hints at Bumblebee…I figured it was time to explain Lita's relationship with Trion and how she came to know the royal twins. **

**If ya enjoyed, please drop a review. Many thanks!**


	12. Chapter 12

****

Chapter Twelve

_Plenoptic_

**I've recently begun writing a--don't hurt me--Yu-Gi-Oh fanfic called "Bloodline". It's an old fandom of mine--old as in third grade. But I was reading some old issues of Shonen Jump and reread the Millennium World Arc. I remembered a lot...how cool Priest Seto is...how much of a spaz Kalim is...Shaada's bald...I hate Tea Gardener...I HATE Jonouchi...etc etc. Oh, and I am a loyal Seto Kaiba fangirl. Whoot! So I'm having fun over here. :)**

**Theme song for this story? Oh, you bet! I won't post it at the beginning of each chapter, don't worry…shmeesh. I wrote the lyrics, and somewhat have a tune imagined…ah, if only my fingers would will the guitar…anyway, I BELIEVE they're on my profile page. I'll double check. If they're not there, don't eat me.**

INITIATE MEMORY PLAYBACK

"_Trion? Hey, whatcha doing? Hey, Triiiion…"_

"_Elita, little one? I don't suppose you could be quiet for a moment?"_

"_It was an innocent question, Trion. What are you up to?"_

"_That's my line. Isn't it past your recharge time?"_

"_Gack. Don't pull that on me. I'm not a sparkling anymore as of two orns ago."_

"_Maybe I shouldn't have made your vocalizer so advanced. Up for a degrade?"_

"_No! Absolutely not! You could take my voice away!"_

_The old mech laughed, stroking the little femme's bright helm. "I'm better with surgical instruments than to do something as foolhardy as that, little one. Don't you trust me?"_

"_It's those machines I don't trust. Not you, Trion."_

"_We are machines, are we not?"_

_Elita eyed the equipment across her "father's" study suspiciously. "Yeah, but those don't have sparks. They wouldn't think twice about slipping up and killing me, would they? You would."_

"_What makes you think I'd consider it at all?" he demanded, placing his hands on his hips, and she shrunk just a bit under his stern gaze._

"_I'm not saying you would. In comparison to those, though…" she smiled shyly. "Will you teach me how to use a power saw?"_

_He goggled at her for a moment before exploding into laughter, sitting back down in his chair. "Good Primus, little one! A power saw, at your age? What on Cybertron would you do with it?"_

"_Use it to chase off suitors," she replied, grinning and scrambling to get into his lap. With a smile, he lifted her into his arms, cradling his daughter against his chest. _

"_I won't present you with any suitors," he promised quietly, recognizing the hum of her recharge cycles. 'Not a sparkling anymore' indeed! She still wasn't old enough to refuse to curl up on her father for her recharge. "You have a sparkmate, remember?"_

_Elita yawned, burying her small face against his shoulder, loving the aged creak of his armor. "When do I get to meet him?"_

"_You'll find him on your own terms. I'm sure of it."_

"_How will I know it's him?"_

_Trion smiled, getting to his feet, carrying the woozy child to her small recharge berth in the corner of his study. "You'll know. Your spark will tell you. Don't be mislead by smiles and looks, Elita--your prince will not seek to awe you with such frivolities. He will not try to entice you with gifts. He will not grace you with meaningless words in the hopes of winning your affections. He will fall in love with you, and you with him, and that's all it will take." _

"_Sounds easy," Elita whispered as he settled her in upon the berth, tucking the thermal blankets neatly around her tiny frame._

"_It won't be," Trion murmured, softly kissing her helm as she drifted into blissful unconsciousness. Stroking her small head, he sighed. "His smile will guide you, his looks will draw you into his kiss," he whispered, telling her the truths only he could present without the lies mixed in between. "He will awe you without trying. He will present you with gifts in search of your reluctant smiles. His words shall never be meaningless, and he will be unable to stop himself from losing himself in you. There will be pain along the way--there will be suffering. It may take time for you two to find one another's true selves." Trion smiled and whispered his promise. _

"_When the time comes, Elita, Optimus will love you…and for as long as you live, you will need nothing more."_

"_Adoption?!"_

_Trion sighed, looking across his desk at the bristling young femme before him. Her blue optics blinked rapidly, possibly in the hopes of dispelling the spiteful tears that threatened upon her. "Elita, brightspark. Please listen to me. The Council and the Senate are after me. They want my experiments to come to an end. I cannot allow that to happen. My experiments, though radical, will someday bring about a brighter future for Cybertron. They simply do not understand right now, but my research must continue."_

"_So let me come! I am intelligent, I am well learned in science--and am I not part of your greatest experiment yet?"_

_Trion flinched. "I do not think of you as an experiment, Elita. Perhaps in the beginning…but the moment you smiled, the moment you laughed, the very astrosecond I realized there was a true spark buried beneath your manufactured wires and vinyl…you are my daughter, Elita. My child and nothing less."_

"_So why are you abandoning me?!"_

_He looked at her, pain ripping his spark apart. There were tears glistening along the surface of her optics, threatening to fall, the color rising in her cheekplates. She was scared. It was understandable._

"_I consider you, in full, my daughter," he said softly, coming around the desk to take her small hands into his. She looked away, gulping down her tears. "But--Elita, listen to me--they do not! The Council, the Senate, the sparkless scientists they employ… to them, you are a but a drone, an experiment, an advancement in the realm of science. They will take you apart. They will dissect your spark. I will not allow that to happen. I will entrust you to a Cybertronian family, where you might find a life free of this fear, free of this constant threat…"_

"_My spark has already been ripped apart," she whispered, a few lonely tears escaping her emotional blockade. "It is only half of what it should be. Unless I find my sparkmate, halved it always shall be. Until then, Trion, I will beg you to keep me with you. As you consider me your daughter, I see you as my Creator, my father…or the closest thing I've had to. Please. Don't make me go."_

_She looked up at him, the tears abruptly flowing free. "Don't leave me!" _

_Throwing her arms around his middle, she buried her face into his lower chestplates, sobbing helplessly. He held her tight, gazing down at the most precious spark in the universe--his daughter. His Elita. She was halfway through her adolescense; the thought of another mech raising her through the tumultuous time wrought havoc in Trion's aged spark. _

_He wanted so much more for his beloved youngling. He'd wanted a quaint housing unit in a small town. He wanted to stand outside a transport car, smiling when she ran from the academy to greet him, breathlessly telling him about how she'd proven herself against her science professors yet again. He wanted to nod along to her gabbing on the ride home, pretending to understand whatever it was young school femmes gabbed about. He wanted to poke his head into her room and ask her if she needed assistance with her school work. And, just once or twice, he wanted her to look up and smile shyly, the way she used to, and say "Father, will you help me?"_

_And maybe, in vorns to come, he wanted to stand in the center of Iacon, bathed white in the light from the suns, and watch with pride and reluctance as she and her sparkmate blushed and babbled their way through a bonding ceremony. And beforehand, he wanted to walk his daughter down the aisle and deliver her into Optimus's waiting arms._

_He wanted to walk his daughter down the aisle._

_Was it so much to ask? _

_But, more than anything his fantasies could provide, he wanted her spark to stay alive. He wanted her to show the world that she was not a drone, that her spark was not, in fact, artificial--it was alive. It was roaring with potential, roaring with a love she had yet to bestow upon a destiny-given sparkmate. _

_He wanted her to smile from the bottom of her spark._

"_I will not risk putting you in harm's way," he said quietly, rocking his child slightly in his arms. "You will be so much more, Elita. You will rise above the pain, the suffering, whatever fate sees fit to bring to you. You will be strong. Know no fear, my child, for you are invincible. _

"_Know no fear, Elita One…for I shall always be here."_

_Elita sighed; she'd caught herself reminiscing. Maybe regretting leaving her true father that day. It was still so vivid in her memory--a younger version of herself, leaving the lab under cover of night. As the transport had pulled away, she'd felt a wave of terror. She'd leaned out the window and reached one hand out to him, screaming for him, begging him to take her back. She'd seen him crying, but he'd lifted one hand and waved his farewell, the promise shining from his optics--_

_This was not good-bye._

"_Ariel, my daughter--why so long in the faceplates? It's not befitting for one so beautiful."_

_She smiled up at her adopted mother, Sephirium's kind optics twinkled down at her. "I'm not upset, Mother--I was just lost in thought."_

_Sephirium smiled grimly, taking a seat beside the young femme. "That's more than we can say for many of the participants here. I don't know why Baron insists on these meetings of his; I suppose he's just trying to find his little girl a proper suitor."_

"_Ariel" blew a large amount of air from her intakes. "Will Father's tirade never end?"_

"'_When there is no visible end in sight, we must still do our best to weather the storm,'" her mother quoted, her smile brightening. "Do you know who said that?"_

"_Sentinel Prime, of course," Ariel replied promptly. "The Polyhex Summit. I studied it as a child."_

_Sephirium laughed, taking Ariel's hand. "So blessed are we. I am sure you're the only femme your age who could answer that question. Your teacher taught you well."_

_Ariel beamed, but Elita was crying on the inside. How she hated this! She hated pretending to be someone she wasn't! She was not Ariel, daughter of Sephirium and Baron. She was Elita One, daughter and Creation of the esteemed Alpha Trion! And as much as she cared for her adopted parents, she wasn't sure she could continue to live this way…_

_Her father stomped over, a mirror of her own stormy spark. His navy armor seemed to swell around him, his golden optics downcast, his handsome faceplates brooding._

"_No one suitable?" Sephirium guessed, arching her optic ridges. His only response was a grunt as he sat down beside his daughter. _

"_Scum, the lot of them," he groused, resting his chin against laced fingers as he propped his elbows up on the table. "Wolves. Nothing suitable for Ariel. She deserves a bondmate, not some mech who's going to waste no time in downright corrupting her…"_

"_Baron!" Sephirium scolded, but Ariel (even Elita) found herself touched by her adopted father's kind intentions. He really did want the best for her…just as Trion had. _

"_We have time, Father," she soothed, smiling, and he turned his gaze to her. "I don't need to be bonded by morning."_

_His optics widened. "Pit no! You're still a youngling! You won't be seen holding hands with a mech for vorns to come, let alone letting him frag you out of your--"_

"_**Baron**__!" _

"_Sorry, dear, sorry…I was only joking, really…"_

_Their conversation was diverted by the abrupt scream that sounded from a corner of the meeting hall. "Goodness," Sephirium muttered, blinking her optic covers in shock. "What's all the ruckus about?"_

_Baron grunted and got to his feet, tromping off in the direction of said scream, and Ariel was quick to follow him. Upon arriving at the scene, they were both disappointed. An elderly femme was shrieking, dancing away from what appeared to be an acid welt on the floor, maybe a foot in diameter. Two young mechs maybe a vorn or two older than Ariel were bent over it, frowning and shaking their heads. Both bore wings upon their backs; one was primarily white, the other white with splashes of red here and there._

"_Too basic," the large white one was saying, examining a vial in his hand. "Look, it didn't even burn through the floor."_

"_That can't be," the small one interjected, snatching the vial. "I was sure I got that right…"_

"_Don't sweat it, Screamer. Back to square one, I guess…"_

"_OY!"_

_The gathered crowd all turned at the sudden appearance of a titanic black mech, dark blue optics glowering at the timid mechs crouched upon the floor, guilt ravaging their faces. _

"_What the Pit are ya two __**doing**__?" the monolith snarled, and both younglings cringed. "Just because ya got special clearance in this military from Prime don't mean ya can test yer lil' acids at social events! Ya two recruits are here as sentry, get it?!"_

"_Got it," Screamer squeaked out._

"_Good! Now get, Ah gotta get this all sorted out…"_

_The younglings fled apparently in fear, but Ariel saw them toss grins at one another; Screamer was already pulling a second vial from subspace, muttering something about reducing its base content. She rolled her optics. Mechs._

_The black mech, meanwhile, was briskly clearing everyone from the slightly melted section of floor, assuring a few squawking femmes that the troublemakers would be reined in promptly. An old, grizzled green-blue mech shoved his way through the crowd, leaning in close to the behemoth. Leaning in just a bit, Ariel was able to catch their murmured conversation._

"_What, Kup, Ah'm kinda busy here…"_

"_I know, I know, keep your crotch plating on, Ironhide. I'll find Jetfire and Starscream, Ratchet's asking for you in the medbay…"_

"_Nn? What does he need me for?"_

"_Optimus is ill--his systems are crashing again, he was vomiting all over the place just a moment ago. He was recharging, had a nightmare or something…"_

_Ironhide sighed, his shoulders sagging. "What sane mech wouldn't, after what he's been through? Alrigh', Kup, thanks fer lettin' me know…Good luck here."_

"_Yeah, thanks. Pat Opt on the back for me, I didn't get a chance to see him. I'll drop by after my shift to check up on him."_

"_Ratch's probably got him asleep righ' now, but Ah'll tell 'im if he's awake. Thanks, Kup. And find those aft-headed lil' recruits, would ya…?"_

"_Next on my priority list. Oh, Pit, did someone just…? Aw, they spilled more acid…brats…"_

"_Come along, Ariel," Baron was saying, tugging lightly on her arm, and she hurried after him. What funny mechs…were they with the military? Thinking of the young mechs and their acid, she couldn't help but grin and hope it landed on some politician's foot. _

* * *

_She couldn't even scream._

_That was the only thought in her processor as his lips slammed against hers, dragging the kisses from her mouth, his hard hands pinning her to the wall. _

"_S-Stop it!" she cried, jerking her head to the side and pulling their mouths apart. "Stop it!"_

_Malevolence released a low growl, biting hard into her throat, and she gasped out in pain. "Give me one good reason to stop. Your parents betrothed you to me--I've got every right to you. You're mine, femme…"_

_She screamed. Screamed because words weren't going to do any more good. Screamed because yes, she was scared. And lonely. What felt like a thousand vorns of pain came out…her loneliness, the feeling of being abandoned, how it felt to have half of her spark missing…she screamed…_

_And someone heard._

_The door of the supply room was thrown wide open, and a massive black fist flew through, catching Malevolence hard beneath the jaw and hurling him backwards into a pile of crates. A large pair of hands gently pulled Ariel away, and she found herself hidden behind a mass of growling black mech._

"_Y-You peasant," Malevolence spat, a thin stream of energon trickling from the corner of his mouth. "How dare you! Do you know who I am?"_

"_Scum," a large silver mech said airily, stepping past his black kin to calmly face Malevolence. "What self-respecting mech would take advantage of an innocent femme?"_

"_She is mine," Malevolence snarled, getting to his feet somewhat unsteadily. "Her guardians have arranged our bondage. Step aside, you petty soldier."_

"_Hey. That's not a very nice thing to say," the silver mech tisked, waggling a finger at the seething aristocrat. "Abusive _and_ rude. Why would your parents leave you to a waste of space like this guy, little lady? Surely you're deserving of better."_

_Ariel blinked, realizing he was now speaking to her. He was quite handsome, his body sturdy, well built, his faceplates drawn back in a cute sort of smile. "Uhm…"_

"_Aw, she's traumatized, poor thing," the silver mech sighed, his faceplates slipping into a pout. But when he turned to face Malevolence, his voice dripped with anger. "Get out of here. Now. Just because she's been promised to you doesn't make her your plaything."_

_Something in the mech's face must have resembled the incarnation of Unicron himself, for Malevolence's optics widened and he fled, spitting insults and curses over his shoulder. The silver mech turned back to Ariel, who was still hidden behind the black mech, and smiled brightly, as cheerful as she'd seen any mech._

"_Now then. I'm Megatron, and this lughead here is my older brother, Optimus. And you're…?"_

"…_Wait! _The_ Optimus and Megatron? Sentinel Prime's successors?!"_

_Megatron grinned. "Listen to that, Optimus. She's heard of us."_

_Optimus did not respond, merely stepped aside, relieving himself of her protection. Megatron paid him no heed._

"_So what's your name, little lady?"_

"_Uhm…Ariel. I'm the daughter of Baron and Sephirium…"_

"_Oh, sure. I've met them. But I didn't know they had a daughter. Shall we escort you back to the main hall? I'm sure they're worried about you."_

"_Uh, yes, please…I'd appreciate that very much."_

"_Alrighty then! We'll lead the way, and in no time we'll have you back--"_

"_Megatron," Optimus cut in curly, and Ariel jumped; his voice was so deep it practically reverberated around the walls. "We've made a mess. You stay here and pick up, I'll escort her myself."_

"_What? How come I get the short end of the deal?"_

"_Because I'm older than you. Pick it all up. And you come with me," he added, looking at Ariel pointedly before turning on his heel and swiftly departing from the room. Ariel, with an apologetic glance at the pouting Megatron, hurried after him._

_She'd expected him to say something, or ask her again if she was alright, or if she knew where her parents were, but he said nothing. Silence. It hung so heavily between them as they wandered the Summit Building's halls that she felt as if the mere atmosphere was choking her. She bit her lip, looking up at the titanic black mech. Black armor…_

"_Are you…are you in mourning?"_

_He looked at her over his shoulder, his optics narrowing. He curtly nodded once before turning away once more, abandoning her to her own troubled thoughts. Swallowing, she tried again._

"_So. Optimus. It's a beautiful name."_

"…_Thank you. I wish I could say the same to you."_

_She tensed, offended; that was rude. Had he just…?_

_He abruptly turned to face her, and she almost ran into him, backing away just in time. She looked up at him, slightly unnerved by the sheer depth of his optics._

"_What's your real name?" he asked quietly, and she blanched._

"_Wh-What?"_

"_I'm a military mech. Don't you think I've been trained to see through false pretenses? When you told us your name, your optics darkened. Like you were dealing with sparkache."_

_She stiffened and glared at him. "What do you know of sparkache?"_

_He stared at her for a fashion, his optics penetrating her to her core. "A lot," he said quietly, and turned on his heel, continuing down the hallway._

_Ariel watched him go. He still held his shoulders proud, his head high, but there was something infinitely sad about him. Drawing herself up, she ran after him. "Hey, wait! Optimus!"_

_He paused, turning back to watch her expectantly as she caught up to him. "Yes?"_

"_I'm sorry," she blurted, and he blinked, taken aback. "I'm sorry. That was a terrible thing to imply. You're a soldier; I'm sure you've known more sparkache than I could even begin to imagine. It was an awful thing to say, and…if there's any way I can make it up to you…"_

_He gazed at her for what felt like an eternity. She had begun to consider running when his optics suddenly softened. "What's your name?" he asked quietly._

_She smiled slightly. "Elita. Elita One."_

_After a moment he placed his hand beneath her chin, tipping her face back to meet his intense blue optics. "Elita…" he murmured, and with a jolt she realized he was smiling, even beneath his mask. "It's beautiful. I like it much better than Ariel. Care to tell me why you're living under a false identity?"_

_She stared up at him, noticing how warm his hand felt on her face, how badly her spark was thundering in her chest at his mere presense, never mind the fact that they were touching. She swallowed nervously. "Um…I don't think I can tell you."_

_Optimus nodded once, moving his hand down to take hers instead, leading her back down the hallway. "Your parents aren't really going to give you to that mech, are they?"_

_Elita sighed. "I don't know. Maybe not, once they find out about this, but…"_

"_I should hope not. I don't trust Malevolence; we have evidence that indicates he may be part of the rebel movement, and--"_

_She blinked. "Rebel movement…?"_

_He snapped his jaw shut, swearing internally. Oh, Pit. "…Nothing. Never mind. It doesn't matter."_

_Elita stopped, and he followed suit lest he risk jerking her arm from its socket. "No, Optimus, tell me. Is there really a rebel movement? Here? On Cybertron?"_

_He looked at her uneasily. "It's classified information, Elita, and I've just met you. I shouldn't reveal any more than I already have…"_

"_You can trust me," she insisted, her small fingers tightening around his. "Optimus, what's going on?"_

_His allowed his optics to meet hers, confused and unsure of himself. Why was he spilling such secrets to this femme? He didn't know her…she was just another member of the highest social class…with a few secrets of her own, sure, but that didn't mean he could nonchalantly divulge military confidentials to her!_

"_I need to take you back to your parents," he said quietly, and at a gentle tug they resumed their gait. "What are their names again? I wasn't listening the first time…"_

"…_Baron and Sephirium."_

"_Really? Well. You're more of a princess than I originally thought."_

_She scowled at him, but his optics were bright above his mask, playful even. She let it slide--this time. "Where do you and Megatron live?"_

"_Polyhex. The main base is there. Ever been?"_

"_Once, yes, when I was very small. But I never saw the base."_

"_Sparklings don't see much," Optimus said softly, nodding. "It's better that way."_

_She shrugged, confused by his words. They fell into silence, the conversation suddenly awkward. They were still holding hands, but as he made no move to pull away, she didn't bring it up. She liked how his hand felt: big, strong, encompassing. Her spark was still throbbing, but she did her best to ignore it._

_Elita couldn't help but notice that Optimus beautiful. He had strong, proud shoulders and a broad chest, which teased into narrow hips. His legs were long and muscled, drawing off in large, flat feet. Elita grinned to herself; he must have been a total klutz. _

"_Here," Optimus said, drawing her in through a side door, and she blinked in the sudden brilliance of the lively gathering room. The sound made her audios ache; she'd liked it better in the quiet hallway with Optimus._

"_Oh," she said quickly, turning to her savior, who was looking just a tad uncomfortable in the crowded room. "Thank you, you know…for helping me. He would have corrupted me for sure if you hadn't--" _

_She faltered; his optics had dimmed at the repulsive word, pain writhing behind his steely gaze. He turned away, dropping his hand._

"_It's fine. I'm relieved to see that you are safe. Take care, Eli--Ariel."_

_She stared after him as he walked away. It was starting to get old, even at its second occurance. Once again, he was leaving her--and once again, she wanted to stop him…_

"_Optimus!"_

_And, once again, he turned to her. His optics were soft, expectant, waiting. "Yes?" he rumbled quietly._

"_Uhm…I…will I see you again?" she stammered out, feeling the blush rise hot and fast in her faceplates._

_He smiled slightly. "Do you want to?"_

_She blanched. "Well…I…I guess I…um…"_

_Chuckling, he strode back to her, un-subspacing a small data disk, which he promptly deposited into her hands. "My comm line number. Give me a call if you…want to get away from it all."_

"_Elita!"_

_She jumped a bit, startled, dropping her data pads all over the floor. With a laugh, Optimus knelt down to help her pick them up once more. _

"_I'm sorry," he chuckled, grinning at her furious faceplates. "I didn't mean to startle you."_

"_Then don't go yelling in the hall with that big-aft voice of yours! Primus, anyone ever teach you this thing called courtesy? What did you want, anyway?"_

"_I'm not allowed to talk to you without a good reason?" She scowled at him, and he smiled. "I'm kidding, 'Lita--I have some good news for you."_

"_You finally agreed to let Ratchet weld your mouthplates shut?"_

"_Nooooo…we managed to place Malevolence under arrest for treason against the High Council."_

_Elita gasped, dropping her data pads all over the floor once more, and Optimus lurched when she abruptly threw her arms around his neck, practically sobbing with relief. The deranged Malevolence had effectively been stalking her the past few orns, ever since he found out where she'd gone when she'd left home a vorn ago._

_Optimus's optics softened, and he cautiously put his arms around her, hugging her small form to his broad chest. "Thank you," she whispered, burying her face into his shoulder. "Thank you…"_

"…_Elita…"_

_His spark sank; this embrace didn't mean to her what it meant to him. She was not hugging a mech she loved, she was hugging a friend, someone who had helped her…_

_She would always embrace him as if she were embracing a friend…_

* * *

"_I want you, Elita. I'd like to know if you want me back."_

_Elita looked over at Megatron, marveling in the way the rising moons illuminated his striking face. He turned his gaze to her, his bright optics boring into hers. Shy, she looked away, feeling her faceplates heat in a blush. _

"_Elita? Did you hear me?"_

"_I heard you," she murmured, biting her lower lip. Her spark was a storm in her chest, screaming at her--but for him or for her to get away? She trembled when his large, strong arms closed gently around her waist, hugging her into his powerful physique._

"_Elita," he whispered into her audio receptor, and she whimpered, her spark aching. "I have fallen in love with you. Please tell me you feel the same."_

"…_I-I…" She broke off, confused. What was it that her spark was trying to tell her?! It wasn't enough to throw a tantrum in its casing, she needed to know what it wanted! She loved Megatron, just as she loved Optimus. But was her spark trying to tell her that her love for Megatron was __**different**__? _

_She didn't resist as he turned her around to face him, lifting her chin to gaze into her optics. "I care for you, Elita," he murmured, his thumb caressing her cheek, his optics softening. "More than you could possibly know. I'm not asking you to do anything, I don't want you to make any obligations--just let me love you. The way you __**deserve**__."_

_She searched his optics, as if in doing so she could see through to his spark. There was no denying the truth in his words…but she didn't know if she could return them just yet. _

_He was taking such a risk. She understood that much. If she didn't return his feelings, their friendship would be damaged possibly beyond repair…She leaned close to him, shuttering her optics, pressing her forehead to his. His armor was cool in the night air, so different from Optimus's constant, radiant warmth. But here, in Megatron's arms, she felt so safe…_

_She felt him tilt his head, his lips closing softly over hers in a gentle kiss. Memories of Malevolence threatened to overcome her, but something in Megatron's tender touch wiped them away. His arms encompassed her completely, hiding her from the chilly night air, hiding her from the prying gaze of the stars, hiding her from the lasting scars Malevolence had pressed upon her memory. _

_Hiding her from the silent onlooker who, as he watched his brother claim the most precious being in the universe, felt his spark break._

**Do flashbacks make up like half of this story or what? Anyway. I felt like I needed to clarify the relationship between Elita and Trion. She's undoubtedly reflecting on how much he's changed since those happy days…I didn't want to leave you with a cliffie, so assume the rest is history. **

**Coming up: The siege against the rebels, and--VICTORY MUSIC--Eclipse's entrance. :) FAN GIRL WHOOT!**

**Please enjoy, please review, in dat order. **


	13. Chapter 13

****

Chapter Thirteen

_Plenoptic_

**I had one person say they thought chapter nine was the best out of the series when it was posted. I have to say I liked ten the best…it was just such an eventful chapter. **

**At some point in this chapter I accidentally typed "Bloodslut." XD And I still choose to use the term "bleed" out of habit alone, so all of you flamers just give yourselves a rest and deal with it. Mmmkay? **

**Updates--NB should be getting one as soon as I get my head out of my butt. I'm just having a lot of trouble there! I'll probably just take a week off this summer and do nothing but finish that series! As for The Ties That Bind Us, I'm thinking it needs a rewrite. Same general theme, but I was a little new to the game and I think I rushed it a bit too much. I dunno, if you have an opinion include it in your review--oh, but if it's anything that inspires the voracious flinging of Hot Pockets at your face, kindly leave it out.**

* * *

"Is this going to work?"

"I don't know. Got any better ideas?"

"No…"

"Alright then, shut up. Screamer! Ready the dynamite!"

"It's _been_ ready, stupid head."

"Well, light the fragging fuse, dumb aft!"

"I'll light it with your head!"

"I'll grab your face and I won't let go!"

"I'll kick you in the shin!"

"I'll kick you in the interface!"

"You _wouldn't_!"

"Oh yes I would!"

"Focus, you two," Optimus cut in loudly, and the scientists reluctantly broke off, casting glares at one another. "Jetfire, how's this going to work?"

"Right, well," Jet said stiffly, checking the considerable amount of dynamite he and Starscream had procured from the remnants of the two crashed cars. "Like I said earlier, this is a big aft transmitter, so it's bound to be located in the middle of nowhere, where the rebels could keep a lid on it. In theory, if we blow the top out of this tunnel, we can use the resulting pile of rubble to climb on up and take the thing out, and hopefully blow the rebel base wide open…"

The assembled twenty cars or so worth of soldiers nodded their understanding (with the exception of Ironhide, who could give a flying leap _why_ they were using explosives and was more preoccupied looking forward to the boom part).

"We got contact with base yesterday, and we've got a transport bringing the rest of the troops," Jazz said, taking the planning data pad away from Prowl, ignoring his weak protests. "So when we go in we'll be ready. Are we gonna give this a shot or what?"

Optimus inhaled deeply. "I believe so. Everyone take cover…somewhere…just stay far away, alright?--No, Ironhide, you can't watch it close up…that goes for you too, Chromia!…Elita, you stay behind me--don't give me that look, it's for your own safety--Jetfire and Starscream, monitor the explosion, make sure it happens all at once. Everyone get ready, this thing blows in one breem!"

The troops scattered, most seeking refuge behind the remains of the monocars. Optimus pulled Elita as far away from the pile of explosives as they could get, taking refuge in a darkened corner so they were just out of sight of the other troops.

"Why wait a breem?" Elita asked in a whisper, reaching up to remove his mask. "Why not do it now?"

"I wanted a moment alone with you," he murmured, pullling her close to him and settling a soft kiss upon her lips. "I can't be sure I'll come back."

She frowned, snuggling into his embrace. "Don't say that. We'll both get through this. Besides," she looked up at him, tugging him down to press her forehead to his, "a breem isn't enough to say everything that needs to be said."

He nuzzled his noseplates against hers, shuttering his optics. She kissed him gently before settling back down in his arms, stroking his shoulders and chestplates. For even a moment, it was nice to pretend that pain had not brought them together, that they were every bit another young couple, just like the ones that moseyed down the streets of the city, the planet, that Optimus and Elita strove to protect.

"After this affair with the rebels is over, I'd like to get away with you," Optimus told her softly, dipping his head to brush his mouthplates over her cheek. "Megatron and I own a small housing unit on the shores of the Acidic Sea. I think you'd like it there. We just bought it recently, but it was owned by an older couple previously, so it has a very antique feel to it…"

Elita allowed herself to forget the tension that had built up in her momentarily. If the brothers had purchased it recently, then it hadn't been a love nest of Optimus and Aerith's…she didn't want to be somewhere that made Optimus remember his grief. Nor did she want to take Aerith's place on a recharge berth, a replacement for the love Optimus had once known. Some small, hideous part of Elita's consciousness whispered to her, reminding her that she could give Optimus more than could Aerith…an entire spark's worth…

Elita drew away from him abruptly, fighting to keep her gaze from what must have been the hurt look on Optimus's face. "I need to ask you something."

He reached out tentatively to gently stroke her cheek. "Of course."

Elita inhaled, steeling herself. "If…If Aerith were still alive, which of us would you choose?"

Her pleaded question was met with silence. She dared to lift her optics and wished she hadn't. Optimus's face was stunned, hurt, torn, his optics full of unspeakable pain. She heard his intakes hitch, and he lowered his head, staring intently at the ground, his arms hanging limply at his sides. After what seemed to her to be an eternity, he lifted his head to meet her gaze cautiously.

"I love you," he assured her in a whisper. "Just saying it doesn't do my spark justice." He bit his lower lip, frowning. "Frag. Is this what you went through when you had to chose between myself and Megatron?"

She sighed. "Megatron sort of made the decision himself, didn't he?"

He smiled sadly, lifting a hand to brush utterly gentle fingers across her cheek. "I'm not sure I can answer that question, Elita," he said quietly. "I've never had both you and Aerith in my life. I'm not sure where my spark would lead me. I have lost Aerith, just as you have lost Megatron…" His smile brightened to a grin. "Perhaps Primus was pushing us together?"

"You think it's taken the power of Primus to make us fall in love?" she asked flatly, and he grimaced. Oops. Back tracking time.

"We can't answer the 'what if's', Elita," he reminded her, taking her hands in his, tugging her towards him and back into his arms. "What matters is that we are here right now."

"And ready to blow a metric buttload of dynamite," she reminded him gently, and with a laugh he kissed her once more before releasing her, moving out of the shadowed corner to crouch with Jetfire and Starscream behind a protrusion on the tunnel's floor. Elita hurried after him, leaning in to join their conversation.

"We gotta seriously come pouring out of there, alright?" Jetfire was saying, frowning. "We should be able to take some of the rebels out just with the initial blast, but we gotta be careful either way. So I vote Optimus and Starscream go out first."

"You know what? I hate you."

"I hate you more."

"Go reformat into a toaster."

"Go interface with one. It's more fun that way."

"Go interface with a magnet."

"I'll shove it up your aft."

"I'll shove it up your face!"

"Your creator!"

"You take that back!"

"You suck aft!"

"Fragger!"

"Jetfire, Starscream? Are we ready to blow this thing or what?"

"Oh. Yeah," Jetfire acquiesced, tugging the fuse closer. "Everyone set?" he called, poking his head over the protrusion. A chorus of voices answered, and he crouched back down, fishing a lighter from his subspace. "Heads down, all," he said lightly, and Optimus tugged Elita closer almost on instinct. She scowled and attempted to push him off, but he only clung tighter.

"I'll be okay, Optimus," she told him flatly, clearly annoyed.

"I don't like explosions," he said through gritted dental plates, and after a moment she laughed; he was using her as a security blanket!

"Alright then," she giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Want me to cover your audio receptors, you big baby?"

He pouted, tightening his arms around her waist as Jetfire bent over to light the fuse. "Yes, please."

"Countdown time!" Jetfire cheered. "Ten! Nine!"

"Eight!" Ironhide bellowed from across the cavern.

"Twenty-nine, eleven, sixteen, fifty-two--"

"Shut up, Starscream! Sevensixfivefour--"

"Three!" Chromia added helpfully.

"Two!"

"And--"

* * *

"Did they take this plan to you for approval?" the white mech questioned, tossing the data pad aside and propping his feet on the rusting desk.

"Of course not," Alpha Trion sighed, retrieving the poor pad from the floor. "After what I've done, I'll be lucky if they ever speak to me again. My poor little creations…"

"Forgive me, Trion, but that sounded painfully unsympathetic. How long do you intend to keep playing this game?" the mech demanded, rising to his feet. "Personally, their lives are none of my concern, but I can't have you doing anything to Optimus that would affect the Matrix in any way, shape, or form."

"And what could I possibly do that would engage that sort of scenario?"

"You could enrage him to the point where he joins the rebel movement," his guest said stiffly, clenching one fist with a crack of his knuckle joints. "The Matrix could be destroyed by those monsters."

"You're so judgemental. One who desires a change is a monster to you?"

"They are contending with a Prime," the mech growled. "That means they are contending with the Matrix. And contending with the Matrix is the same as contending with Primus himself. It does, after all, house a shard of his spark. They desire to overthrow our god--so yes, in effect, they are monsters."

"You're so very cold, Nova," Trion sighed. "Do you really see yourself as having the right to judge another's existence? Not even a Prime can rightfully say that they have such a privelege."

"We Primes act in place of Primus," Nova Prime replied spitefully. "So yes, I do claim that right."

"…Hmph. Sentinel would be ashamed to hear his predecessor speaking in such a way. He had such great confidence in you, even as a cadet. I remember. Even Optimus holds you in high regard--you did, after all, create the Ark. For the purpose of what again?"

"The Ark was created for the expansion movement," Nova snapped. "It was Cybertron's sentimental peoples that interpreted it as a tool for exploration."

"Are you so surprised?" Trion mused. "Such beliefs were fueled by Omega Supreme himself, were they not?"

"Foolish old man," Nova growled, sinking back down into his seat. "Notice that he didn't stick around for the repurcussions. No, he fled to his synthetic asteroid on Muta-Gaath and hasn't been seen since."

"The repurcussions?"

"This rebellion, of course," Nova huffed impatiently. "Don't you see? It began because my supporters and Omega's disagreed. I didn't think you were so naïve, Trion. An intellectual such as yourself didn't even know the source of this rebellion?"

"…It is you who is the naïve one, actually," Trion chuckled, striding to a crumbling shelf and searching through the data pads. "This rebellion began long ago…longer ago than you or even your progenitors could possibly begin to remember. This conflict began with Primon and the Liege."

"Primon?" Nova cocked an optic ridge. "The first holder of the Matrix? You mean to say that this conflict has been brewing since the dawn of our race?"

"Oh no…the conflict between good and evil has been brewing since the dawn of time," Trion said quietly. "Was it not because of the wars between Primus and Unicron that our universe came to be?"

"That's just a sparkling's bedtime story. No one actually believes it, and scientists such as yourself even less. You're a fool to entertain such thoughts."

Trion snorted. "I can see why you and Omega disagreed. You're so immature, Nova…you simply refuse to listen to anyone's voice but your own. Sentinel and Optimus were…are…far greater leaders than you could ever dream of being."

"I'm simply more realistic than most, Trion," Nova snorted. "It's not that I don't understand the feelings of others, my old friend. But I choose not to keep such foolish thoughts as those of unity and peace. As you said, conflict has always existed. If we must live through it, why not come out stronger, no matter the sacrifice?"

"…Have you…ever loved another, Nova?"

Nova Prime blinked, cocking his head. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Sentinel…when he was young…before he was even instated as commander, he fell in love with a young femme who served under you. She was a scientist, and brilliant. Primus, I've never met such an incredible processor. At that point, he shared many of your views--he did look up to you, of course. But as he grew closer to Fayt, he came to realize something. He realized that even in the midst of the battle between good and evil, there are some things too precious to sacrifce."

"…I don't see where you're going with--"

"And now, we have Optimus. Optimus, who has loved not one, but two others, not including his brother and two younger siblings. Optimus experienced the pain of loss when Aerith passed, and thus learned compassion. He experienced jealousy…and spark break…when Megatron and Elita became lovers, and thus learned to be sensitive to the feelings of others. And now…with Megatron gone, he feels betrayed. But as a result, he will learn not to desert those who need him."

Trion turned to the silent Prime before him and drew himself to his full height, a bastion of wisdom and knowledge--insane, but learned all the same. "You, Nova, learned only greed," the scientist said quietly. "You, who have never known love, cannot possibly understand the feelings of others, as you so claim. I can guarantee fools such as you only one thing--Optimus loves his Elita more than you ever loved your power."

"…Hmph," Nova snorted, turning away. "Wise, Trion, but your words are lost on me--I no longer have the Matrix, I no longer have any influence on Cybertron. I'm just a commander who was supposedly lost to the stars, and that's all there is to it. And now you expect me to relearn all I've ever known?"

"You taught yourself those selfish, greedy ideals," Trion retorted flatly. "I can't change you, but it's never too late to teach _yourself_ a new trick."

"…Was there a _reason _you called for me, Trion? Because I can get a preacher any time I'd like, but processors like yours are rather infrequent in this day and age."

Trion nodded absently, still digging through his data pads. "Do you recall what I told you earlier? About Megatron's spark being left over matter? About how I infused it with anti-matter so it would be more complete?"

"Indeed. Quite the radical procedure. What of it?"

"I remember, quite vividly, how more anti-matter was needed than what I had originally planned for. The left over spark matter was contained late the evening the experiment was completed, then I adjourned for a joor or so of recharge. When I returned and added the proper amount of anti-matter, I found that Megatron's soon to be spark was still unstable. I passed it off as a mere miscalculation at the time, but…"

"But?" Nova prompted, intrigued.

"I think a portion of Optimus and Elita's combined spark matter might have been stolen. I think another mech or femme--for unknown reasons--may have taken their spark matter, split the mass in two, and added huge amounts of anti-matter to stabilize them, finally reproducing…"

"Wait, wait--are you suggesting that there are black incarnations of Optimus and Elita running around?" Nova demanded, swinging his chair around. "Trion, isn't that a bit of a leap? For all you know, it really could have been a miscalculation on your part."

Trion shook his head slowly. "No, I think it's entirely plausible that the spark matter was stolen. While Optimus was fighting on Nebulon, an outpost harboring energon stores was attacked. The one survivor described a huge black mech with a frightening resemblance to Optimus Prime. The story was dismissed as traumatic misconception on the witness's part, and it never even made it into Prime's inner circle. But I have connections, and was able to speak to the witness myself. He described Optimus perfectly."

Nova frowned. "Convincing, Trion, I'll give you that. But there has to be a motif here. And who would want a fake Optimus? I mean, the rebels, sure, but do they honestly have the resources to produce a synthetic spark?"

"I was not even taking the rebels into consideration," Trion replied curtly. "No, this scheme--if it is as elaborate as it seems--has taken vorns upon vorns of planning. It would take one with foresight to commandeer it--one who knew of Optimus's existence even before I."

Nova blinked, his optics widening. "Only Primus would know such a thing, and I hardly think that he would even bother to sabotage one mech, and certainly not a holder of the Matrix."

"Not Primus," Trion said quietly, shaking his head. "Someone with equal power. One with followers."

"…Unicron," Nova Prime said in a horrified whisper. "Pit. A god…he would know of Optimus's future, his destiny…"

"Perhaps his target was not even Optimus," Trion said, whirling to face his guest, his optics bulging slightly, his face almost deranged. "Unicron's true target was not the leader, but--"

"The Matrix!"

"Precisely!"

"Of course, of course…if he can usurp Optimus, then the Matrix will be passed to another…and no doubt Unicron has a follower who is in a good position to receive it…"

"Or _will_ be. It will take a great deal of time to break the trust Optimus has earned from his fellow Cybertronians--but the older he gets, the harder he will be to break. He will have wisdom and experience on his side, not to mention loyal soldiers. Unicron must be in a hurry…that's why he's deployed this…anti-Optimus. A _nemesis_ greater than any Optimus has ever known."

"Wait," Nova interrupted. "Why bother to construct an anti-Elita?"

"Optimus and Elita's sparks were originally one," Trion replied, rubbing his chin. "I merely split the spark into two different bodies and altered a few things to give them their own unique personalities and genders. Whether they bind their sparks or not, Elita is Optimus's most crucial weakness. He has already lost one lover, he will stop at nothing to protect Elita now. As I had hoped," he added, smiling bitterly.

"So what are we to do?" Nova asked, getting to his feet and pacing nervously. "Do we alert Optimus?"

"He is preoccupied, let him focus on the task at hand," Trion replied. "Actually…I would like to call your predecessors back from oblivion."

Nova's head snapped up, and he blinked his optic covers. "What? You mean…reincarnate Prima and Primon? That's madness, you'd have to appeal to Primus himself!"

"This battle is against Unicron," Trion reminded him. "I'm sure Primus will be more than willing to cooperate. Besides, Prima and Primon's bodies are still sealed away in the Chamber of Ancients--it would be a simple matter to retrieve them and allow their sparks to reanimate them."

Nova shook his head slowly. "This is madness, it's insane…but by Primus, it sounds like it's going to work. For a crazy old loon, Trion, you are amazing."

Alpha Trion smiled crookedly. "I do try. Now, on the basis of spark-splitting…did you know that it is possible for couples that have not bonded to use that method and create sparklings?"

"Hm…interesting. An example, perhaps?"

"…Do you know of the sparkling Bumblebee?"

* * *

Shortstop scratched his nose plates absently, staring out across the desolate Cybertronian terrain. Slow day. Frag, he'd gone through a lot of resources getting himself into Bloodlust's company, and for what? He hadn't even seen the legendary killer--Pit, he hadn't yet managed to get himself off of guard duty.

"Hey," Spelunker grunted, dropping down next to his friend and handing him up a cube of high grade. "Don't let no one catch you with that--they say it'll impair even the best shot."

Shortstop snorted. "Like anything interesting'll happen today. This tech disruptor is in the middle of fragging nowhere--Prime's forces have absolutely no way of getting out here without Bloodlust finding--"

Both mechs were thrown face-first into the dirt as the rebel encampment behind them abruptly exploded, freeing a cloud of debris to the open sky. The camp lodgings--and a portion of the inhabitants--were simply ripped apart, random bits strewn across the desert for miles in the resulting shockwaves. For a moment after the explosion that ripped the ground apart, there was silence--then, from the monolith tower in the center of the camp, the tech disrupter dish released one long, sorrowful creak before tipping forward and falling from its support, crashing into the ground and onto the ten or so hapless mechs below.

And just as Shortstop and Spelunker clambered to their feet, a dull roar came from below. The mechs froze, staring at the gaping wound in the ground, stiffening with fear as the roar grew louder, and in an explosion of gunfire, Optimus Prime's troops poured, it seemed, from Pit itself.

Optimus and Elita scrambled from the hole and into a regular slaughterhouse; the rebels, caught unawares, were a chaotic mess, only egged on by the sudden presense of twenty transports worth of soldiers. But it was only moments before order took its hold, and the rebels almost immediately began to lay down return fire, dropping several of Optimus's brave soldiers where they stood.

"We have to take out Bloodlust!" Prowl's voice barked from Optimus's comm link. "It'll destroy their morale, they're only in this because he convinced them!"

"Understood," Optimus said gruffly. "Watch yourself out there--Prime out."

He turned off his comm link and, in one fluid motion, turned and swept Elita into his arms once more, trapping her in a bear hug.

"Be careful," he whispered, his presense smothering her. "When all of this is over, please come back to me."

"I love you," she told him desperately, and a moment later he was gone, whisked away into the depths of the battle. Inhaling deeply, Elita summoned her own weapon from its subspace, gave it a split second to charge, and a bare microsecond later was lost to the battle herself.

* * *

Bloodlust had obtained his name for a reason. It wasn't the name given to him by his Creators--he couldn't even remember what his mother had cooed to him during his sparkling years. He hadn't even gotten his gruesome designation because he enjoyed to kill (well, he did, but that wasn't the source of his namesake).

Bloodlust never forgot how his enemy's spilled energon smelt.

His olfactory receptors were incredible, a direct result of the radiation in the air. The mutation had certainly worked in his favor. It wasn't a gift he had to utilize often--very few of his opponents ever lived to spill energon again.

But this time, he was surprised that Optimus Prime's life scent was in the air--and it smelt of anger, of fury. Bloodlust smirked; it would smell of hatred if Prime knew just how far his enemy's injustices went, but Bloodlust was planning on revealing his true crime later. Later…when he could get his hands on Prime's current lover. For now, Prime was looking for nothing more than a rematch--the day when he would avenge Aerith would come soon.

But not that day.

Bloodlust actually crouched upon the ground, his noseplates twitching, trying to distinguish the source of the scent, where it was coming from. It was addicting, but he couldn't allow himself to get drunk on it just yet. Not until Prime was dead--permanently this time.

He didn't find its source until it was too late--with a roar, Optimus tackled the rebel leader from behind, sending them both careening into the dirt. With a flip of his feet Bloodlust managed to toss the smaller mech off of him; a moment later found Optimus choking, struggling to pry Bloodlust's suffocating hands from his throat.

"I'm not so surprised you lived," Bloodlust panted, glorifying in the way Prime's struggles began to weaken; he could feel energon lines giving way beneath his fingers. "You're a tough nut to crack, Optimus. It's almost a shame I've got to kill you for real."

Optimus's head dropped into the dirt, his optics blinking on and off erratically. He couldn't think straight--his pump couldn't make the energon move, not enough air…He was dead in the water if he didn't…do something…

He'd only had one night with Elita…

…

_Wait._

He seized Bloodlust's leg, fingers clawing, searching…_that pressure node…Primus, don't let it just be on femmes…don't let it…frag, armor's in the way…_

"Interesting tactic," he heard Bloodlust snort at him. "Do you always feel up your opponents before they defeat you?"

Wriggled his fingers beneath Bloodlust's armor…he heard the tyrant hiss…_This is disgusting…_Where was it? He'd been guiding her legs around his hips, he'd touched just behind her…knee, right? And then…

Bloodlust shrieked, his shoulders jerking back, fingers releasing their deadly hold, his back arching violently. Optimus twisted his hips, dumping his opponent onto the ground before springing to his feet with a snarl. Bloodlust, recovering, staggered back to his feet--accompanied by his infamous battle axe as it came out of subspace.

"Not bad," he snorted, shaking his head to clear his optics of dust. Optimus fleetingly thought of Kup's almost constant recommendations to get wipers on his optics and suddenly wished he'd listened; the fighting was kicking up ton upon ton of dust into the air, all debris from battles fought long ago.

Optimus coughed, panicking upon feeling his vents clogging up, and felt something wet hit the inside of his mask. He froze, shocked, and even more so when a hot fluid ran down the back of his throat. Angling his shoulders so Bloodlust couldn't properly see, Optimus tenderly touched the wiring in his throat and winced upon the pain that grazed the abused area; Bloodlust had managed to make his internal energon tubing burst. He cautiously pulled his mask away and was horrified to find his own bright blue energon dripping from it.

Bloodlust abruptly released a roar, and Optimus found himself dodging the axe on sheer, carefully honed reflexes (courtesy of homicidal training sessions with Ironhide). Bloodlust charged, bringing Optimus down once more; Prime scowled as he felt his mask leave his fingers. Damn.

He managed to wrestle a knee up and shove against Bloodlust's chest before the killer could resume his attack on his opponent's throat, sending the rebel rolling off of him once more. Hissing as he was shoved away, and as Prime stood up Bloodlust threw out one clawed hand in desperation--

And Optimus found his already damaged throat wiring abruptly ripped open.

He clapped a hand over the wound, a numb state of shock setting in, only slightly brought back to reality by the feel of his own energon gushing between his fingers. The logical part of his processor coolly noted that he only had a few moments before he'd collapse; if he was going to take Bloodlust down, it was now or never.

_Die later, Optimus. Fight now._

He didn't dare try to intimidate Bloodlust with his vocalizer; a wet gurgle was going to sound a lot less impressive than a snarl. But for all the rebel knew, Optimus was still in shock--and that brief moment made all the difference.

That is to say that Bloodlust was shocked to see Prime bolt at him suddenly, rifle ripped from subspace, awful pain and fire raging in his optics. The rebel jolted backwards, held his axe horizontal in defense--a horrible shriek as it sliced through Optimus's abdominal armor--an explosion of gunfire that sounded muted to their audios as the right side of Bloodlust's body was simply blown apart--Optimus felt his internal structures burst under the hard blade of the axe, felt the hot, wet sensation down his legs as he began to bleed to death…

A hand shoved hard against his shoulder, and Prime collapsed backwards into the dirt, a weak moan the only testament he could give to his agony. Bloodlust staggered back, staring in horror at his destroyed body: his right arm and shoulder gone, his chest armor destroyed enough that his spark chamber was visible, the right side of his abdomen and hip, decimated beyond recognition. His leg wobbled, and he too hit the dirt, too shocked to feel the excruciating pain he dimly knew would come later.

And it was Shortstop and another rebel who arrived nanoseconds later, crying out in horror, seizing their fallen leader and carrying him off faster than they'd done any other job in their lives.

Optimus blinked weakly up at the sky, wondering when he'd fallen into a lake; the coherent part of his processor wearily informed him that he was lying in his own energon. _Oh._ He sighed softly, shuttering his optics, the sounds of the battle fading away to background noise. Well, death wasn't so bad. He felt warm, and the pain was gone; he felt pleasantly numb. Tired. He _was_ very tired. Maybe…if he could recharge for just a few moments…he'd wake up safe in the med bay, with Ratchet nearby--ouch, something had just hit him in the side--

He'd wake up with Ratchet telling him how monumentally stupid he could be, and Elita would be sitting at his bedside, trying not to smile, but her optics would be laughing…then she would lean over and her lips would betray her love for him…at least death didn't stop him from dreaming…

* * *

It was convenient, for once, that Elita wasn't looking where she was going--if she had, she wouldn't leapt across Optimus rather than tripped over him. Feeling her foot connect hard with his side, she fell flat into the dirt with a muffled grunt. Groaning, she sat up, clutching her noseplates--which weren't leaking, miraculously--and happened to look over her shoulder to see what could have broken her face.

Her mouthplates fell open in horror, and a high squeak rose from her throat. Optimus was utterly still, energon pumping from his wounds. His foot twitched, and he whimpered, the energon gurgling faintly in the back of his throat.

…_Oh, Primus, no._

"Optimus," she whispered frantically, scrambling to turn herself around and lean over him, cradling his cheekplates in her hands and turning his face towards her. "Oh, no, no…Optimus, please, look at me…say something…Optimus, dammit, I know you're not dead yet, do something!"

…_Her hands are warm. Her voice is so pretty…I must look a mess…there's even energon on my face…_

_No…she's crying?_

"Don't go," she bit out, hot tears flooding her field of vision. She leaned closer, pressing their foreheads together, brushing her mouthplates over his. "Don't go without my spark, Optimus…"

He was hurt so badly. His energon was a bright pool beneath him, rushing from the awful wound in his abdomen. But what could she do? He was dying, she was sure of it, but what good was she other than to sit here and comfort him as his spark slipped away…?

As his spark slipped away _alone._

The sudden scream of an engine caught her attention, and she lifted her head to see Jetfire and Starscream deactivate their thrusters moments before they melted Optimus's exposed innards.

"S'okay, Elita," Jetfire said quickly, rushing to her and bending over their fallen leader. "It's okay, Ratch and Jack are here, they have a shuttle all set to go…Screamer and I need to get him over there, okay?"

She blinked numbly at him, her fingers stiff and frozen upon Optimus's face. Jetfire glanced down and felt his pump quicken; the wounds had stopped bleeding. Nothing left _to_ bleed.

"Elita, we have to get him help," Jetfire said loudly. "He'll live if we move NOW. Let us take him. Elita, please!"

Her optics flickered, and with a slight shake of her head she pulled herself from her shocked trance. She felt tears on her face, her tears on Optimus's. "Go," she said quickly, bending over and pressing a soft kiss against her lover's lips before moving back. "Go, hurry, take care of him."

"Will do. Screamer, help, he's a fattie."

Reactivating their thrusters, the Seekers positioned themselves at either end of the dying commander, Jetfire hooking his arms beneath Optimus's and Starscream lifting his legs beneath the knees (miraculously missing that special node). It was an awkward, if effective procession back to the shuttle, which suddenly seemed very far away. A few rebels froze, gawking up at the sight of the struggling Seekers as they carted their leader through the air; such onlookers were very quickly disposed of by Elita as she raced along beneath the rescue team, her spark a wildfire in her chest. _Hurry._

Jetfire and Starscream all but threw Optimus onto the stretcher upon their arrival at the shuttle, and Ratchet neglected to waste time with thank you's, beginning work on his patient even as Wheeljack pushed (with due difficulty) the laden stretcher to an impromptu med bay.

"He needs energon, he's bled himself out," Ratchet snapped, thankful he'd sterilized himself before Optimus arrived--there sure as Pit was no time now. "Faster, Jack--insert the transfer tube into his wrist, his pump's stopped. Damn, forget that, how do we keep his spark alive?!"

"Um--um…" Wheeljack stammered, his processor churning. "Some inanimate object could house it…"

"Like _what_?!"

"I don't know! Um…wait, wait! I have a frame! I brought it along to work on because I was afraid I'd get bored--"

"BRING IT!" Ratchet roared, ripping open Optimus's chest plates and prying back the spark casing. "NOW! **HIS SPARK'S GOING OUT**!"

Wheeljack disappeared into the shuttle's lab just as an exhausted, bloodied Elita charged into the med bay, panting and heaving, her optics wide with panic.

"No femme hysterics," Ratchet snarled. "I can't deal with it. Hold."

She jolted in shock when Optimus Prime's spark was quickly but carefully deposited into her hands, nestling gently between her palms. "What--? What do I--?!"

"Just for a second!" Ratchet snapped, immediately beginning work on Optimus's half dead body. "Wheeljack's coming with a--"

"Got it!" the scientist panted, rushing back into the room, cradling an incredibly tiny protoform in his arms. "Elita! Thank Primus, come here!" He dropped his creation onto an examination table, opening its chestplates and spark chamber. "Just ease Optimus in there, it'll be fine…"

Elita approached the frame, taken aback--it hadn't even occurred to her that she was holding Optimus Prime in her hands at that moment. His spark felt so immense, so powerful, and…it was _calling_ to her. She was half tempted to place it alongside her own, but her hands forced his beautifully warm spark down, down…

Into the waiting chest cavity of the sparkling frame.

* * *

**WHAT?! again.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Plenoptic_

**Whew! Thirteen was a long one, and it was all pretty intense--but now we get to have fun with sparklings. :D yay! **

**For The Ties That Bind Us fans, I must tell you that this series is getting a major rewrite. I'm just not happy with it as it is. Must get better at writing cute sparkling moments…**

**Hey! Guess who sort of kind of knows how she's going to proceed with New Beginnings?! Any advice you have to give, or additions you'd like to see before the story ends are very much appreciated. Just send a PM. :D**

**Kay! Here's fourteen! Enjoy!**

* * *

"You know what I'd like to know?" Ratchet groused, very carefully examining the wounds in Optimus's body's abdomen.

"What's that?" Wheeljack asked cheerfully, bending over the injured frame and shining a light down so Ratchet had better access.

"What kind of Primus-sent moron brings a sparkling shell to build--_on a battleship--_ in case he gets _bored_?" the CMO demanded, scowling over the damage done even to Optimus's waste tanks. "Move that light left if you know what's good for you…"

"Oh, well," Wheeljack began bashfully, doing as he was told, "I thought I'd try and equip it with cannons or something…"

Ratchet froze in his work, lifting his head slowly to give his comrade a bewildered look. From the corner of the room, a stunned Elita glanced over her shoulder at the inventor, arching an optic ridge.

"And why the Pit would we need to stick cannons onto sparklings?" Ratchet asked, aghast. "Good Primus, you want a bunch of little _Ironhides_ running around? Though they might have more self-control…"

"That's not nice," Elita replied flatly. "Oh, Primus, he's waking up! Wheeljack, what do I do?!"

"Um…treat him like a sparkling, I suppose," Wheeljack replied, shrugging. "He's got a mature spark, but his processor's that of a child, and that's where his basic survival instincts are. He'll probably wake up and start to cry. Oh, he'll be cold, so if you go into my lab in the back there's some armor that should fit the frame…and warm him up some energon, you'll have to make a makeshift bottle…"

Elita blinked incredulously, looking back down at the tiny sparkling as it stirred, its little feet twitching. Optimus's tiny face scrunched into a yawn, and with a blink of astonishing blue optics and burst of sparkling warble, he came online. At first, he didn't move, gaping cluelessly up at the ceiling, but a soft whine made it more than apparent that he was ready for a new view. Trembling and apprehensive, Elita reached down, and after a moment's deliberation lifted the child into her arms, one hand beneath his tiny aft and the other supporting his head.

Optimus squirmed, nervous about being so high up. He blinked curiously up at Elita for a moment, cocking his head, then burst into a fit of giggles, sticking a tiny fist into his mouth and kicking his feet happily.

Ratchet and Wheeljack turned, startled by the crash that resounded from the corner, to find Elita sitting on her aft, nearly offline, clutching a terrified Optimus Prime in her arms.

"Elita?!" Wheeljack yelped, rushing to her side and gently helping her to her feet. "Are you--?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine--oh, Optimus, I'm sorry," she cooed shakily, stroking the sparkling's faceplates. He was crying, scared by the fall, confused by the sudden changes in her demeanor, and not really liking the strange mech that was looming over him. Plus, he was cold. And hungry. And his chest felt funny.

_That's because my spark is too big for this casing, of course._

_**I'm a sparkling?!**_

_No, I'm in a sparkling's body. Stop panicking, this is fixable._

_**I died!**_

_My body died. My spark is perfectly healthy, thank you very much. What am I crying for?_

_**Because this sucks!**_

_I really need to be more mature about this. Shut up, other personality._

_**I'm talking to myself! I'm going insane!**_

_My processor is far too simplistic to mutate at this point. I assure myself that I am not, in fact, going insane._

_**I'm not very helpful!**_

_Well, I'll just have to excuse myself. I'm trying to approach this from a logical, cool point of view, and I'm making it very hard._

_**But I'm not making any sense!**_

_Well, neither am I. Clearly this is a problem that needs to be fixed. I'm confusing myself. Why do I have two personalities, I wonder? Could it be due to spark trauma?_

_**Who the Pit cares?! Ratchet has to fix me!**_

_He'll get to me, I just need to be patient. Surely there's a way out of this…_

_**I can't sleep with Elita like this!**_

_On the contrary, I can, we just cannot connect our interfaces…well, technically we COULD, but that would just be...no. Just no._

"Optimus?"

Sniffling, the sparkling looked up at her, one fist in his mouth, bright blue optics blinking dolefully. Elita sighed, caressing his head. He was so different--as was to be expected, but she still couldn't quite get over it. How could this tiny, helpless little creature possibly be the mech who'd just risked his life to quell a rebel uprising, the mech she'd spent only one blessed night with?

"You _did_ put him in a mech frame, didn't you?" Elita demanded scathingly, looking over at the inventor at her shoulder.

"Yes, yes, of course," Wheeljack said quickly. "I'm sure of it. You can take off his interface covering if you'd like…to double check…"

After a few seconds' deliberation, Elita swiftly plunked her would-be lover onto the counter top and removed his crotch plating. Sparkling Optimus giggled--it was ticklish down there!--but the spark within flared unevenly, the mere thought of her hands down there igniting his fire, sending his pump into overdrive and hot energon rushing through his body. He whined, kicking uneasily; he felt hot, uncomfortable, and his pump was going too fast.

"What's wrong now?" Elita asked helplessly, replacing his interface cover (he was indeed a male, pathetic though he was at this stage) and scooping the sparkling back into her arms.

"Well, you had your hands between his legs," Ratchet snapped from his operating table, busily soldering various lines together to keep what little energon the frame had flowing. "You probably aroused his spark, and his body took on a natural response to that. Sparklings don't know how to feel passion--well, as far as I know-- so you probably upset his processor."

Elita stared, but after several moments could not come up with a decent comeback, so instead turned back to Wheeljack. "The armor's where?"

"My lab," he replied nervously, reaching out to tickle Optimus's sensitive protoform stomach. The sparkling squealed in delight, his frame cooling, kicking his feet and nearly denting the scientist's faceplate. "It's all in the back, scattered on the largest worktable. I'm going to help Ratchet finish up here, then I'll be back to give you hand if you need it…"

"Oh, um, sure. Thank you. Come on, Optimus, you've been naked long enough," Elita cooed down at the sparkling, turning and heading towards the lab in the back. "Normally I wouldn't mind so much, but as a little guy I guess you have some rights. I will, however, be stripping you as soon as you're normal sized, oh yes I will…"

"Deranged femme," Ratchet muttered, sitting up and rubbing his brow. "Fraggit to Vector Sigma. This damage is too extensive to take care of here; we'll have to freeze his body over and get it back to base ASAP. Comm Rodimus and Ultra Magnus, tell them to wrap it up here. This battle's won, by the looks of it, and we need to get down to the general med bay--Red Alert's up to his head in casualties, judging by the very frantic nature of the texts he won't stop sending me."

"Sure thing, Chief," Wheeljack replied lightly, already hooking up the equipment necessary to deep freeze Optimus's frame. "We are gonna be able to repair him, right?"

"It'll take time, but yeah," Ratchet grunted, leaning over the sink to sterilize his hands for the billionth time. "We've got him--it, the frame--mostly stable, and his--its--condition shouldn't worsen as long as it's frozen. With that said, radio Magnus one more time--I can't carry this lugnut by myself."

* * *

"Got it," Elita sighed, dropping into a chair and letting her head rest on the table. "Who'd've thought that getting a sparkling dressed would be so difficult?"

Optimus chirped, his legs splayed out and his hands patting the shiny surface of the work table. He looked more cute than noble, even back in red armor, especially because it was too big for him. The helmet partially covered his face, and his hands were mostly hidden beneath the forearm armor; he had enough leniency that he could wiggle his fingers around, but that about did it. He kicked his feet a little bit, giggling; Wheeljack had been creative enough to emblazon the leg armor with flames. Maybe this sparkling gig wasn't so bad after all.

He squeaked, waving around one shiny little arm, trying to get Elita's attention, but for the moment she was completely out of it, dozing lightly on Wheeljack's table. Optimus scowled, releasing a squawk. Okay, so he missed his commanding baratone. He got lots more attention that way. He tried waving both arms, but rather than getting what he wanted, he lost his balance, and his upper body flopped backwards onto the table. Oops.

Optimus huffed, trying to sit himself back up--this was embarrassing--only to find that his arms couldn't lift his weight. Huh. How aggravating. He instead lifted his feet into the air and swung them downwards, hoping that the momentum would jerk his body upright. Clang. His heels hit the counter, and aside from some very sore feet he'd gained nothing. Optimus pined, waving his hands at the ceiling, but several seconds later was still flat on his aft.

He craned his head back, optics crossing as he struggled to make sense of the suddenly upside-down world. Jack had a couple of tools lying nearby; perhaps he could use one to pull himself up?

Grunting, he twisted, rolling over and landing with a flop on his stomach. Now, how did one move in a body so small? He tried tugging himself along with his arms, but that didn't particularly work, and just pushing with his feet did very little. Maybe if he coordinated it? He reached out and planted his hands on the countertop, bending his knees so his feet gripped the table, and pushed off, pulling with his hands. Oh, that worked. He wormed his way across the table for a good half breem before pausing, panting, his little arms and legs aching. When did the countertop get so long?

"What on Cybertron are you up to now, little one?"

Optimus squeaked when a large pair of mech hands closed around his waist, lifting him up and flipping him onto his back. He squalled, kicking his feet around, dinging the mech's chest armor.

"Ouch." Ultra Magnus rubbed at his chest, scowling down at his mini commander; Optimus was hunched over and chewing on his captor's thumb. "That hurt, you little fragger. How long have you been wanting to do that?"

Optimus released a high pitched growl, scowling at Magnus when the big mech increased the pressure of his hold. He didn't like being held like this; he wanted to go back to Elita, but Magnus was still scrutinizing him, unable to believe that this tiny, weak little thing was their commander.

"Magnus!" The sub-commander blinked in surprise when the sparkling disappeared from his hands, and looked up to see an irate Elita cuddling Optimus, stroking his tiny helm and cooing down at him. "Could you not strangle him, please?" the femme snapped irritably, glaring at the hapless mech. "Do you spend all of your time trapping helpless sparklings in death locks, hm?"

"Of course not," Magnus said quickly, desperate to redeem himself. "Ratchet told me that he was in here and a bit…different…and I thought I'd come and check…how on Cybertron did this happen?"

"His body was beyond repair, and his spark was going out," Elita said flatly, struggling to keep the pain from her voice. "Wheeljack had this shell on board, so they did an emergency transfer."

Magnus frowned; all that medical frag was far beyond him. "But…it is still Optimus, isn't it? I mean…does he even know who I am?"

"It's still Optimus's _spark_," Elita said somewhat helplessly, looking down at the baby bot in her arms. He beamed up at her, waving one little hand brightly, brushing her faceplates. "But he's got the processor and body of a child. I'm not sure what that means as far as his memories, exactly. I don't know…Optimus, does he look familiar?" she questioned, angling the sparkling in her arms so he could properly see the big mean mech. "Remember Magnus?"

Optimus stuck a thumb in his mouth, his optics blinking cluelessly. Magnus felt a sort of pang in his spark; did Optimus's spark not remember him? He couldn't just disregard it; Optimus meant too much to him. As a comrade, as a leader…as a friend.

"Optimus?" he almost begged quietly, reaching a hand out to the sparkling. Prime looked at the hand, then up at its owner, then back at the hand again. With a delighted squeal, he reached out and slapped his palm against Magnus's. High five. He giggled, taking hold of Magnus's hand in both of his and pressing his forehead against it. It felt familiar.

"**Where is he**?!"

The bellow made the room's three occupants jump, ruining the moment. Optimus squeaked in surprise, burying himself in Elita's arms and peeking apprehensively at the door. He looked up at the femme and chirped; what was going on?

"Dunno, Opt," she replied in a murmur, then leapt back in shock when the door was positively kicked open, heralding a seething Ironhide and a tittering, frantic Wheeljack.

"**Optimus**!" Ironhide bellowed, and the sparkling whimpered, pressing his face into Elita's collar armor. He shivered in terror as Ironhide walked forward, his footfalls thunder in the sparkling's audios. Ignoring Elita's yelp of protest, the weapons specialist seized Optimus by the jut of armor between his shoulders and lifted him up, bringing the teary baby bot up to his face.

"_**This**_ is him?" Ironhide growled, his optics narrowing. Optimus burst into tears, curling up into a ball and hiding his face in his arms. His spark was pulsing gently, reassuringly; it recognized Ironhide, but his processor was running scared. The mech was too loud, and he smelled like gun debris.

"Ironhide!" Elita snapped, taking a step forward; her processor was also acting independently of her spark, desperate to protect the tiny sparkling. "You…!" She cut off abruptly, staring, her optics widening. "You…you're a mess."

Ironhide grunted, shifting his weight to his other leg, still holding Optimus up to his face level. His right optic was sparking, fizzling out, damaged by the long wound across his face, and the arm that wasn't suspending Optimus dangled limply at his side, nearly severed at the shoulder. Energon was leaking from the gaps and seams in his armor, dripping steadily onto the floor.

Elita turned her horrified gaze to Wheeljack; why was Ironhide bleeding beneath his armor? The scientist shrugged helplessly; Ironhide hadn't stopped for proper treatment after hearing what had happened to Optimus. He'd sprinted straight to Wheeljack's lab, heedless of his leaking body.

Ironhide grunted and abruptly drew the sparkling in, cradling Optimus to his chest. Prime squeaked, blinking as energon dripped down on him; he could hear Ironhide's systems whining in distress, but the mech made no move to help himself, far too concerned with his tiny commander.

"S'okay, Boss," Ironhide slurred weakly, looking down at the child in his arm. "S'okay…it'll all be alright, Optimus…" His optics darkened, and with a long, sorrowful creak he simply tipped over sideways.

"Whoa!" Ultra Magnus yelped, leaping forward and catching Ironhide's incredible mass from behind; servos and hydraulics screamed as he tried to hold the huge mech up. "Wheeljack! Help, call Ratchet! Elita, take Optimus! Ironhide! **Ironhide!**"

Optimus released a wail, a scream that pierced both their audios and their sparks. The sparkling shrieked again, thrashing, still in Ironhide's secure hold, and Elita struggled as she tried to pull him away. Prime was clutching the larger mech's chestplates, screaming, sobbing, writhing in pain. His spark was twisted into an agonizing knot, horrified and scared.

_**Ironhide! IRONHIDE!**_

_I need to calm down. I'm going to kill myself._

_**I can't calm down! IRONHIDE!**_

"What's wrong with him?" Magnus demanded, helping Wheeljack lay Ironhide on his back on the floor. The pool of energon around them was steadily growing; the giant mech wouldn't last much longer. Even the most seemingly indestructible mechs such as Ironhide had only so much energon.

"Who, the sparkling or this guy?" Wheeljack demanded, afraid to act without Ratchet's discretion but terrified of doing nothing.

"Both," Ultra Magnus replied in anguish, his spark churning as he looked down at Ironhide. "Wheeljack, what's wrong with him? Is he going to be alright?"

"I…I don't know," the inventor replied helplessly. "I don't know what could be causing this…I've never seen such mass internal leakage. It's frightening. Elita, what's wrong with Optimus?"

"His spark recognizes Ironhide," Elita theorized, stroking the pitiful child's helm, rubbing his back, anything to ease his suffering. "It must hurt, seeing Ironhide like this. He has the mind of a sparkling, he doesn't know how to control the pain."

There was a sort of strained silence as they all alternately stared at their ailing comrade and their wailing commander. Magnus watched the child, mystified; this was a projection of the feelings in Optimus's spark. Did it react the same way when he, Magnus, was in dire straits? Or was such terrible grief reserved only for Ironhide?

He hadn't time to finish his musings when Ratchet flew in, looking harried and more irritable than normal, though none of them had thought it possible. "Frag," he snarled, dropping to his knees at Ironhide's side and checking the main fuel line in his throat. Elita could have sworn she was the faintest flicker of fear for his friend behind his normally calm optics. "Moonracer," he barked sharply into his comm link, "I need a stretcher and a berth in the med bay ready, stat!"

"Are you kidding?" she demanded indignantly. "I'm up to my audios here, Ratch, I can't possibly--"

"**IRONHIDE'S DYING!**" Ratchet abruptly exploded, causing all of the room's occupants to promptly wet themselves. "**I CAN'T DO A THING HERE! I NEED HELP! GET YOUR AFT AND A STRETCHER DOWN HERE, PLEASE!**"

"…O-Okay," Moonracer breathed out shakily. "Okay, I'll, um…just a second, okay? I'll be right there…I'm coming, I'm coming…"

"Thank you," the CMO replied unevenly. "Thanks, Moonracer…"

He hung his head, gripping his helm in his hands, struggling to regain control. For a few long moments, only his ragged breathing and Ironhide's filled the room, but the relative quiet was disturbed when the door flew open, bringing forth Moonracer, a stretcher, and a terrified looking Chromia.

"…Ironhide," she gasped, her optics widening at the sight of her mate upon the floor. "Wha--_Ironhide_!"

"Whoa," Wheeljack said quickly, jumping to his feet and catching Chromia around the waist in one arm. "Wait, Chromia, calm down. He needs medical attention, there's nothing you or I can do right now. Please just wait here."

"_Ironhide!__** Ironhide! **_**Dammit, Wheeljack, let me go! **_**That's my sparkmate**_**!**"

Elita hurriedly sat the sniffling Optimus down upon a chair and moved to Wheeljack's aid, putting her arms around her best friend and dragging her into a corner. Chromia's shrieks drowned out the anxious babble of the medics as they struggled to maneuver Ironhide onto a stretcher. Upon succeeding they wasted no time in shoving the stretcher out of the room--it took Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Ultra Magnus combined--and Chromia screamed, thrashing wildly, straining against Elita's surprisingly strong hold.

"Shh, babe, hold on," Elita whispered desperately, kissing Chromia's helm softly and pulling her friend closer despite her vicious struggles and spark breaking cries. "I know it hurts, just hold on…it'll be okay…"

Moonracer, having stayed behind, joined her friends, also wrapping her arms around Chromia. "Hey, hey," she murmured gently, looking up into Elita's optics for guidance. "It's okay, yeah? Elita?"

Elita stared blankly, then realized with a jolt that Moonracer had never been spark bonded. She hadn't even had a relationship with a mech since the disastrous link with Powerglide several deca-cycles ago. She'd never known the love of a sparkmate, so she certainly had no idea what Chromia was going through.

"Yeah, it'll be fine," Elita said in a whisper, reaching around to grip Moonracer's hand tightly. "Ironhide's going to be up and about before you know it, Chromia. Just hold on a bit longer."

"I've got to see him," Chromia sobbed desperately, pulling in vain against her friends' arms. "Ironhide…I've got to get to him, please…"

Elita tightened her grip, pressing Chromia's face into her shoulder as the femme broke down. She'd never seen Chromia so distraught, so helpless, especially over Ironhide. The couple had dealt with injuries before; for Ironhide's mate to be so upset, something must have been seriously wrong. _With his spark?_

"Ironhide will be fine," Elita said quietly, rubbing Chromia's back. "It's all going to be fine, alright? He's tough, you know that and I know that and Primus knows that. And there's nothing Ratchet can't fix, right? Everything is going to turn out for the best, Chromia, so be strong for me. Okay?"

Chromia sniffled, wrapping her arms around Elita's waist and nodding weakly. Moonracer breathed a sigh of relief and moved to gather Optimus from the chair. The sparkling had stayed dutifully quiet, keeping his behavior in check while Chromia was consoled. He squealed and reached for Elita, clearly ready to be the center of attention again.

"This is so weird," Moonracer muttered, staring at her commander. "I'm holding Optimus Prime. In my arms. And there's nothing even remotely provocative or romantic about it."

"There'd better not be," Elita snorted, arching her optics ridges and gently taking the sparkling into her arms. "Hello, Optimus. You were such a good little mech. Thank you very much."

Optimus chirped, happily curling into a ball and snuggling into the crook of her arm. Moonracer shook her head slowly, her optics locked on the tiny sparkling.

"Ratchet _is_ going to be able to put him right, yeah?" she inquired, glancing up at Elita. "I mean, good luck sparkbonding with him now."

Optimus squawked indignantly, and Elita giggled. "Of course Ratch will put him right. All he has to do is repair his body, and we'll move Optimus's spark back into its casing. No harm done."

Moonracer bit her lower lip. "You make it sound so simple. You're so confident, 'Lita."

Elita lowered her head a bit, softly kissing Optimus's helm. He purred, snuggling closer to her. "I can't afford to not be confident," she said quietly. "I can't afford to start thinking that this is the way it's going to be. Optimus will be returned to his normal self. I will get my sparkmate back. If I don't keep telling myself that, I'm afraid I'm going to lose hope." She smiled slightly, feeling Chromia's arms tighten around her waist. "But we're not even back at base yet, so I'm not going to give up. When do you think we can go check on 'Hide?"

"Not sure," Moonracer replied, frowning. "Looks like it could take some time. I'm going to go see if I can be some help tending the other soldiers, Ratch and Red definitely have their hands full, and Wheeljack just isn't apt with dealing with survivors."

"I'll come," Chromia volunteered, stepping away from Elita and rubbing at her optics. "I want to be close enough to hear about 'Hide as soon as something changes…"

"I suppose I'll help out as well," Elita added, adjusting Optimus in her arms, but Moonracer cut her off.

"No, ah…Elita, why don't you stay with Optimus? We don't want the other troops seeing him just yet, I don't think," Moonracer reasoned, cocking her head and tickling Optimus's abdominal plating. The sparkling released a yelp of laughter, trying desperately to bat her dancing hand away. "And he needs someone with him to keep him calm. This is our commander, after all. There are some rooms upstairs, I'm sure you could find a berth and relax with him a bit, make sure he's comfortable and all that. And we'll call you if we need you, and--Elita, are you injured?"

"Huh?"

"Turn around," Moonracer ordered, and when Elita didn't move Chromia promptly seized her by the shoulders and whipped her around. Elita immediately saw the reason behind her friend's suspicion; there were streaks of bright blue on the wall upon which she had been leaning.

Elita released a yelp of pain as Moonracer's fingers brushed the backs of her left shoulder. "Primus! What's wrong back there?"

"Besides the fact that an energo-sword completely melted through your thick-aft battle armor and welded all your wiring to your base protoform? Nothing," Moonracer growled. "It's all sealed up because it cooled, so there wasn't much leakage, but you'll lose all function in that arm if we don't get you treated soon. Best I can do is cover it up with mesh for now and wait until Ratchet can tend to you properly…come here, stop your squirming…and Chromia, hold Optimus…Elita, I do have a welder and I will melt your butt to that chair…"

* * *

"Why won't the leaking stop?" Red Alert cried desperately, banging a fist on the countertop. "Frag! We've welded all visible injuries closed, so--"

"There's something wrong on the inside, we have to get his armor off," Ratchet snapped back, already doing so--a little bit carelessly, but time was of the essense. "Jack, Red, help me here, he's loaded with battle armor…I need to see his vital bits, open up his abdominal plating…"

"M-Most of it's attached to the protoform, Chief," Wheeljack objected weakly. "We'd have to rip it off--"

"He's sedated, and we'll reattach it later," Ratchet snarled. "Take it off, or we'll lose him!"

Sharing a single apprehensive glance, Wheeljack and Red Alert obeyed, helping the CMO in peeling away the plates that protected Ironhide's vulnerable abdominal protoform. Ratchet leaned in close, narrowing his optics, and released a long hiss of disbelief.

"What in Primus's good name did this?" he wondered aloud, shaking his head, clearly flabbergasted. "Jack, take a look at this. Tell me what you think is wrong."

Wheeljack approached the patient, bending over and squinting to observe the damage. "…What the Pit. What the Pit! It…looks like the ends…"

"Melted, yeah," Ratchet agreed, nodding.

"What?" Red Alert demanded, confused, and took a look for himself. "Primus on high…what…?"

Much like the structure of an organic body, each of their protoform carried an elaborate network of tubing and circuitry through which energon traveled with each compression of their pumps, quickly and efficiently carrying energon to the various vital structures throughout the frame. In Ironhide's case, the adapters that brought tube and "organ" together had simply melted, also damaging the delicate network of tubing surrounding such structures. The medics stood in silence for longer than they could possibly afford, stunned.

"It was like it was an acid," Ratchet murmured, dumbfounded. "An acid that just attacked the adapters and converters, then ran from the open tubing and onto the surrounding areas…"

"A poison?" Red Alert asked weakly. "One formatted to a non-organic body? Ratch…is that even possible…?"

Ratchet shook his head slowly, not in disagreement, but just to make perfectly clear that he didn't have a clue. "Alright. I have a radical and very dangerous idea. Wheeljack, I need my welder. Smallest nozzle we have. Tiny flame. Like a candle-sized flame. Like something a sparkling could light with a fart. Tiny."

Wheeljack stared, then it began to dawn on him. "Wait. Wait, wait. You want to weld the remaining wiring _directly_ to Ironhide's vital structures? Are you out of your processor, Chief? They'll retain way too much, there's no way his pump could stand up to that kind of pressure…it'll loose available energon to circulate with every compression, it's insane…"

"Got any better ideas?!" Ratchet demanded, the stress more than clear in his voice. "Ironhide is dying on this table, Optimus Prime is a sparkling, Megatron is missing--no matter what we're dealing with we're kind of running out of options! In case you haven't noticed, our reality is insane, it's time to learn to cope! NOW GET ME MY PIT FRAGGING WELDER!"

* * *

"Megatron, your plan…shouldn't have worked."

He lifted one optic cover from his place on the outcropping just above her. "And why is that?"

The femme trembled slightly, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself. "I…I thought those viruses infected my processor. If you just moved it into another body, then there's no reason why I should have survived."

"Those viruses targeted your body," Megatron drawled lazily, dropping one hand to lightly caress her helm. "I did remove your processor, but didn't place it within the new frame immediately. They'd already taken hold of your old protoform, so with nothing left to infect the programming simply became obsolete. And of course, housing your spark was a simple matter," he added with a purr, sliding from the outcropping to sit behind her, pulling the femme into his lap. "It really was wonderful having you so close."

She frowned. "I still don't understand. Why didn't our sparks bond if you were carrying mine in your spark chamber?"

"Your spark was weak, love, you didn't have the self-awareness to iniciate a bond," he said quietly, his fingers massaging her hips, his words a sensual whisper straight into her audio. "I think you're worrying about this too much. After all, you got what you wanted; we can be together and Optimus hasn't been hurt."

"He thinks I'm dead," she replied, her voice torn with agony. "Isn't that pain enough?"

"At least he doesn't have to deal with the betrayal, yes?" Megatron reminded her, brushing his mouthplates over her cheek.

"This also means you've been leading that Elita person on," the femme scolded quietly, finally giving in and leaning back against his chest. He purred, pulling her closer and snuggling her securely against his frame.

"I really did love Elita," he told her softly. "I loved her with all my spark."

"I'm your sparkmate," the femme whispered, catching his hands in hers; his grip was tight and warm. Beautifully, wonderfully warm. "Why did you bond with her?"

"Optimus would have bonded with you, and it seems Elita is his sparkmate," Megatron reasoned quietly. "There's really nothing to be done about any of it."

"Optimus didn't have Elita when he had me," she said, her throat tightening. "You had a choice. And you chose her."

After a pause, Megatron chuckled. "Does it anger you, that Elita had my spark and now Optimus's? A bit jealous, perhaps? I happen to know that Elita holds you in contempt as well; Optimus hasn't been able to forget you, you know. Pity, as he's been trying so desperately hard to move on."

She bit her lip, lowering her optics. "Sometimes I wish I'd never gone with you. I loved Optimus as you loved Elita; I never meant for him to get hurt."

"I know, love, I know," Megatron soothed her softly. "But don't forget, you have a chance to take him back, if you like. Take him back so I might have Elita again."

"And why is this, after you've already broken your bond to her once?"

"I've got to defy Alpha Trion somehow," Megatron whispered, softly kissing his femme's throat. "I've got to have my revenge for the way he created me. I'll ruin this 'perfect reality' of his in any way I can."

"You're not so much like the mech I fell in love with," his sparkmate whispered faintly; his wandering hands were painfully distracting. "You've changed, Megatron."

"So have you, Aerith," Megatron replied quietly, eyeing the body of the mech in his lap. "So have you…"

* * *

**That last line has no typos in it. I don't want any stupid aft flamers going "Uh, yeah, idiot, Aerith is a chick." I KNOW THAT. I'm just being evil. Mua ha ha. Please review :D Thank you!**

**Oh yeah…WHAT?!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

_Plenoptic_

**Whoot! We're making some progress. Optimus is a sparkling, and Megatron's hooked up with Aerith, who is WHAT?! Please enjoy, time for things to pick up a bit.**

**Well, here in the editing stage (something I sometimes skip entirely, consider yourselves lucky) I must add something to that cheery little A/N. It's called being grounded. And being restricted to an hour of computer time per day. And having my grandmother staying in the computer room. And all that school crap that hitchhikes with August. And still having a wee bit of writer's block in every single story I'm working on. But I always have a good three chapters ready to go for this one (except now) so I'll put this up now. **

**I do have an idea of how to make NB move. Nice torture scene or something should get my rusty brain gears back into action. :) Please wish me and my thirty-six-pills-per-day (for various and very awkward medical reasons) good luck. :D Until then, enjoy the freaking chapter, ey?**

**NEW POLL UP! PLEASE TAKE AFTER YOU'VE READ THE CHAPPY. THAT'S A MUST. THE AFTER PART. :)**

* * *

"Optimus and Megatron aren't here?"

"Uh, no ma'am," Powerglide replied nervously, rubbing at his helm. He had a tendency to get nervous around pretty femmes, but this was ridiculous. It was hard to keep himself under control when she was only a few inches away, right up in his face, astoundingly blue optics burning into his with a fire he'd only seen in Elita. And it didn't do to be interested in this femme with her mate only a few inches behind her, seething silently, his optics also intent upon the poor mech they were interrogating.

"Then where are they?" Eclipse demanded, despairing; she'd been so excited the last few breems of their journey she could hardly contain herself. Now to come here only to discover that her brothers were elsewhere…

"Um…That's classified…I'm not sure I should--"

"My name is Eclipse," she snapped, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at him. He gulped. "I am the leader of the Neutral faction in Haven, and have personal ties to both Megatron and Optimus. I've traveled a long way to see them, and you will tell me where they are."

Powerglide looked around nervously. The other mechs and femmes in the main hall were very carefully avoiding (Powerglide preferred the term "abruptly and conveniently busy") the situation that was unfolding before him. He opened his mouth to protest and thus invite Death to his door, but was interrupted when Firestar kicked him hard in the aft, sending him to the floor almost immediately.

"OW! FRAG! WHAT THE PIT WAS THAT FOR?!"

"For being a rude little snot," she replied flatly, and Eclipse grinned; she liked this femme already. "Are you antagonizing visitors? A femme, nonetheless? You really have no respect, do you?"

"You glitching femme-mech! Would you mind your business for once in your damned life?"

"Scat," she replied scathingly, kicking him again as he staggered to his feet. "No femme wants a jerk like you within a hundred mile radius of her, let alone in her face and giving her orders. Get out of here, I know you have work to do. Scavenger's on the hunt, so if you scram now I won't tell him you've been skipping training sessions."

Powerglide glared at her as he got up and left, and with a sigh of relief she turned to the newcomers.

"Sorry about him. He's like that to everyone, don't take it personally."

"You seem just a bit biased," Eclipse noted, arching an optic ridge, and Firestar grinned.

"He dumped my best friend for some doll in a bar. Can't help it. I'm Firestar, by the way. And just what the Pit do you want with our dingbat commanders?"

Eclipse smiled faintly; dingbats. There was a fitting adjective. "I'm--"

"It's not important," Wingsaber cut in abruptly, stepping forward and wrapping an overly protective arm around her waist. "We need to see them. It's urgent."

Firestar blinked. "Oh. Well, then. But like that idiot back there said, I'm not sure we're supposed to share their whereabouts with strangers--"

"I'm their little sister," Eclipse blurted desperately. "Please. Please tell me where they are."

Firestar stared, stunned. "Wait. Huh? Their little sister? Optimus never said anything about--"

"They think I'm dead," Eclipse explained hurriedly, the back of her throat burning. _Don't cry. Not yet._ "Please, I've got to see them again, I've got to explain!"

Cocking her head and looking into the femme's optics, Firestar relented. There was such truth, such desperation in Eclipse's voice. "Alright. Optimus is away right now, near Polyhex. He's fighting off a rebel assault there. His crew hasn't contacted base for a few joors; we're starting to worry. And Megatron…disappeared about an orn ago. We've had no contact with him whatsoever."

"Disappeared?" Eclipse repeated in disbelief. "Like…he was _taken_, or he left?"

"I think he left," Firestar said uncomfortably, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I don't know anything about it. He had a falling out with Optimus, apparently. I guess they're arguing over a femme in our ranks."

"Megatron left over a _femme_?"

"I think it's more complicated than that," Firestar sighed, rubbing her helm awkwardly. "I think we're talking broken bonds here. Like, sparkbonds."

Eclipse stared. "Is that even possible?"

"You got me. But I know something bad had to happen for Megatron to--" Firestar froze in mid-sentence, her jaw dropping slowly, her optics widening. "Primus…"

Eclipse turned, and her spark immediately exploded within its chamber, joy and shock ripping through her processor. Never before had her elder brother looked as amazing as he did then; even in her fuzzy memories from her sparklinghood, he'd never looked so tall, so handsome, so amazingly surreal.

"Megatron," she gasped quietly.

He stopped in his tracks, cocking his head, observing her carefully. "Do I know you?" he asked politely, but even as he said it something tingled within his spark; something strange about her optics…

She nodded slowly; she felt like she'd lost her voice. Wingsaber's arm tightened around her waist, his optics flashing suspiciously; Megatron didn't recognize his own sister?

Megatron turned his gaze to the stunned femme behind them, frowning. "Firestar? Who are our guests?"

She started, surprised, but quickly drew herself together. "Oh. Um, oh. Y-You don't--? Uh, well, welcome back, Commander…this is Eclipse, the leader of the, um, Neutrals? Yeah, from Haven…and I guess this guy is her mate…dunno his name…er…"

Megatron had stopped listening at the mention of the femme's name, his optics immediately drawn back to hers. Eclipse? _His_ Eclipse? Was that even possible? No--even if his little sister hadn't disappeared the way she did, she couldn't possibly be a full-grown femme…she'd be just out of sparklinghood by now…it had, after all, only been two vorns…_shortly after Aerith 'died'…_

"I know it's hard to believe," Eclipse blurted, her voice perhaps a bit louder than she had intended. "But I can explain! Megatron, it's me, I swear to Primus it's your sister. Please, just listen to me for a few moments."

Megatron stepped forward, and she fell silent, watching him tentatively. _Believe me._ His optics caressed her, observing her frame, her face, the gentle blue optics that pleaded to his. She seemed small, fragile, almost weak, especially in the embrace of her mate. But Megatron's spark was pulling towards her, almost purring happily, recognizing the frequency of hers.

_It's her._

Eclipse yelped in surprise when he abruptly reached out, snatching her from Wingsaber's grip and dragging her into his own, cradling her against his chest. "M-Megatron…?"

"Hey there, runt," he sighed softly, his hand rubbing her back, and after one restrained moment she broke, burying her face in the strong armor of his chest and sobbing against him, relief pulsing through her spark. He said nothing more, holding her as she cried, shocked himself to see her _here_, and like _this._

He smiled very slightly; she still cried like a sparkling.

* * *

The Chamber of Ancients was quiet, the only sound birthed by Nova Prime's feet as he descended the great spiral staircase. The dark festered with every step he took, the cold swelled with each breath from his vents. Tired blue optics blinked slowly in the diming light. Darker, darker, darker…he shivered, rubbing his shoulder armor, squinting, praying to Primus that he didn't fall down the stairs. That wouldn't look very noble at all…

His foot touched the ground, and all at once it lit up; a huge sphere in the very center of the vast chamber, fed by hundreds of tiny tendrils of energy that seemed to run in and out of nothingness. Nova paused; it was breathtaking. The Well of All Sparks was sheer energy, untamed and unpredictable, a virtual force of nature, and that was putting it mildly. It was more a world of its own, heaven in tangible form, though Nova didn't dare touch it.

Instead, it came to him.

Alerted to his presense by its own incredible, spiritual awareness, the Well reached out abruptly, three thick tendrils ripping free of their encasement within and encompassing the former leader completely. Nova shuttered his optics, memorizing the feeling; being crushed and expanded, blackened and enlightened, killed and reborn. This was not the first time he'd experienced it, and he hoped it wouldn't be the last; Nova hadn't been spiritual until the moment his predecessors had called to him from their perfect Oblivion.

The tendrils separated, backing off, and each seemed to take on the form of a bot not so different from he; Nova distinctly identified two mechs and a femme. They would have been invisible to the optics of most, but Nova, having carried the Matrix of Leadership, felt welcomed by their presense, almost as if he were a sparkling invited into his home after a cold day. The feeling was…nice. For a moment, he almost felt loved…

**Nova, **Primon murmured, cocking his head slowly. His energy seemed to be the most immense; the other two were turned slightly to him as if he were a magnet (a shiny, swirling magnet, but a magnet all the same). **You've arrived sooner than expected--one bot short, I might add. What brings you here now, young one?**

_And without the runt, _the femme added, long spindly arms crossing over her chest.

HIS NAME IS OPTIMUS, PRIMA, the third corrected meekly. AND HE IS NOT A RUNT--QUITE A BIT LARGER THAN YOU, INCIDENTALLY.

_Up yours._

"Not much has changed, I see," Nova sighed. "Uncouth and loud as usual, Prima. With all due respect."

_It's because of you boys_, she growled darkly. _Can hardly be feminine on a base full of morons. I meant mechs. Sorry, my bad. What brings you here?_

"I'm here representing Alpha Tiron, actually," Nova replied, hunching his shoulders a little when Prima hissed her displeasure. "No one other than the holders of the Matrix are permitted down here, of course, and--"

**Alpha Trion? What business does he have with us?**

_Isn't he the nutter who broke up 'Lita and Megatron? I don't care what he wants, but I'll tell ya what I'll give him--a long metal pole jammed right up his--_

WAIT, HOW DO YOU 'BREAK UP' A SPARKBONDED COUPLE? SO WHO'S ELITA WITH NOW?

_Optimus, duh, because Trion made 'em that way. Get with it, Sentinel, you're acting far too old._

I AM TOO OLD, YOU'RE JUST IN DENIAL OF YOUR OWN AGE.

_Shut up! I'm immortal, in case you haven't noticed._

…**Because you're dead.**

_You're creator's dead!_

Nova cleared his throat loudly, and the three fell silent.

_**OUR BAD. CONTINUE.**_

"Thank you," Nova sighed, relieved; he'd be lucky if he could even get this out without the three getting annoyed enough with each other to return to the Well. "Trion believes that Unicron is taking a hand in the events happening on Cybertron; destroying sparkbonds and what not. Being a god, he is, of course, able to control the flow of fate. We theorize that he may be using puppets to carry out his will. Personally--and I didn't bring this up with him--but I think that even Trion may have been overshadowed at one time or another, or was compelled to do things that were out of character."

_Such as?_

"Taking a recharge nap at the most crucial point in the synthesizing of sparks," Nova replied flatly, arching his optic ridges.

_Oh. Yeah. That would do it._

**Anyone else? **Primon prompted.

"Yes. Currently, Optimus is waging battle against a rebel leader by the given name of Bloodlust. Trion knows for a fact that Bloodlust played a hand in the death of Optimus's former lover, Aerith, thus opening his spark to another--Elita."

_Why would Unicron puppeteer Optimus and Elita's getting together, only to try and break them apart now?_

"We don't know if that's what he's doing for sure--and it's possible that he didn't foresee their relationship in his own mad rush to change fate. I believe that Aerith's death was meant to crush Optimus--I believe that Unicron meant for Optimus to take his own life."

HE UNDERESTIMATED HIM, Sentinel said proudly.

_Primus. Optimus has defeated a god and doesn't even know it. And at so young an age…I'm a bit jealous_, Prima mused. _Maybe looking out for this kid is worth it._

"I'm very glad you think so," Nova said, smiling slightly. "Because Trion would like to call your sparks from the Well and into corporal bodies to help us stop Unicron's various puppets."

…**Interesting.**

VERY.

_Uh, insane is more like it. You'd have to--_

"Appeal to Primus, yes, I know," Nova broke in. "I'm on my way to the Corespark now. I just figured I should at least have your assent before I called you back."

_Points for politeness,_ Prima sniggered. _Alright, I'm in. Primon is too, and Sentinel's coming along by force._

**Thank you, love. I can speak for myself, actually.**

_Then speak up, sweetums--not gonna let a girl show you up, are ya?_

* * *

The rebel base was in ruin. Wounded and worse were still scattered across the ground, Death summoning soft moans from aching bodies and broken sparks. The destruction was so rampant that even the raunchiest of the rebel mechs didn't notice the femme who hid in the shadow of a collapsed bunker, her soft whimpers of pain the only tribute to her presense there.

And even the bravest of them failed to see the immense black mech who crept along the outskirts of their destroyed camp, his red optics bright and intent, scouring the darkest nooks and crannies. He crouched low behind the dilapidated disk that had once been the tech disruptor, casting a brief search through their sparkbond. He felt it very distantly, a weak response and a pull on his spark.

He followed it, bent low to the ground, virtually invisible to passing optics. He paused in the shadow of the bunker, frowning; it had been so close a moment ago, but where…?

"…Nemesis…"

He turned, startled, and felt his intakes freeze at the sight of the injured femme on the ground. "Primus," he hissed, kneeling at her side, his spark boiling at the extent of her wounds. "That black mech with the cannons?"

"I did manage to infect him," the femme gasped breathily, smiling weakly. "He didn't like it."

Nemesis grunted, too stunned to reply. The left side of her body was mangled, brutally blown apart, leaving gaping wounds in her chassis and her arm and leg virtually useless. He cradled her face in one large hand, leaning close to inspect her side.

"I'm carrying you out of here," he muttered, lifting blazing optics to lock upon hers. "You won't last in this condition."

She blinked her optic covers rapidly, fighting to remain conscious. "But…Bludgeon said…"

"It doesn't matter," he cut in curtly, trying to decide how best to lift her without causing her any more pain. "You're no good to him dead. We can't stay here."

She trembled as he slid his arms beneath her, lifting her up bridal style, cradling her to his chest. Shakily wrapping her uninjured arm around his neck, she pulled him close, pressing her forehead to his and kissing his mask softly. He moaned weakly at the soft pulses of desire released by her spark, and it was with difficulty that he dipped his head, breaking her kiss.

"Not now," he whispered, caressing her jaw with one thumb, wary of the hard pincers that had so very nearly taken Ironhide's life. "Later, love. When this is all over."

Her optics burned into his, red facing red, the fire and the shadows it cast. "It won't end. Ever. You know that as well as I do."

He turned his face away, optics narrowing, spark torn with turmoil. "Then let's leave," he snarled, tightening his grip around his beloved. "I can't continue like this if this conflict deigns to last for eternity. I care nothing for Optimus Prime, I care nothing that I am his shadow. I will live that way contentedly. As long as we never meet, there is no reason for one to hinder the existence of the other."

"He has the rest of your spark," his lover whispered, gripping his chin in one surprisingly strong female hand and turning his face to hers. "The light can ignore its shadow, but the shadow cannot possibly ignore the light. The light can live without, but the shadow must follow the light wherever it treads, for it cannot exist without it."

"And who is to say that I am Prime's shadow?" Nemesis snapped, his optics a fiery inferno in the dark. "Who is to say that I do not have a light all my own? A dark light, to be sure, but it is a light he cannot possibly hold."

"There is no light you have that Optimus Prime does not," she told him firmly. "Know your place, Nemesis."

"…You."

"What?"

"_You_, Blackarachnia, are a light I have that Prime could only dream of," Nemesis whispered, touching his forehead to hers.

"…And what of power?" she asked faintly, captivated by the burn of his spark against hers beneath their chestplates.

"It matters not to me how powerful Prime may be," Nemesis murmured, nuzzling his mask against her cheekplates. "With you, I am invincible."

She trembled when he pulled away his mask, pressing his mouthplates to her throat. Waves of passion engulfed her spark, sent by the writhing mass that was his own. She knew they weren't supposed to feel this way; their sparks were primarily anti-matter. Nothingness. In their universe, at least. It shouldn't have been possible to feel the way she did…

"Do you love me?" Nemesis asked quietly. Blackarachnia automatically banged one small fist against his chestplates, her spark aching in its casing.

"Shut up," she hissed angrily. "Shut up! I can't feel! Nor can you, so just stop planting such false hopes!"

"…You did bond with me."

"…Shut up."

"Just admit to having feelings for me," he replied coolly, disgruntled. "You can't possibly hide it forever."

"Oh yes I can!"

"So you have something to hide?"

"Oh no I don't!"

"Please notice that your are contradicting yourself."

She buried her face in his throat, her body on fire as well as her spark. "Just take me home. I want to go home. I hate it here."

"You're a pouty one, aren't you."

"Shut up!"

Nemesis smiled, replacing his mask and getting cautiously to his feet. "Alright. Homeward bound, love. Homeward bound…"

* * *

**Filler chapter to show you how many freakish plot twists this thing could take :D Stop your lies, it's my evilness that keeps you coming. I heart reviews! I think we're very close to review number one hundred, so please keep them coming! I really appreciate it.**

**Next chapter we'll get back to Optimus and Elita and, most importantly, Ironhide.**

**NEW POLL UP! IN CASE YOU'RE TOO LAZY TO READ THE OPENING A/N. PLEASE TAKE IT. THANK YOU VERY MUCH!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen :D **

_Plenoptic_

**Seems that NemesisXBlackarachnia has gotten a good response, actually. As far as the poll goes. No one mentioned it in their review…(sniffle) And Optimus's predecessors seemed to have been liked. Even the conspirator, Nova, hasn't been pulverized by virtual objects (for more info on him and his un-cool plans, check out TF: Spotlight volume two).**

**Oh yeah, Bluebird Soaring took review number 100! She was also the first one to ever review for New Beginnings, so thank you very much! **

**Back to Optimus, Elita, and IRONHIDE!**

**A stylus is a pencil. **

* * *

Elita sighed, nervously rocking the tiny sparkling in her arms as she struggled to adjust the solvent to an appropriate temperature. Optimus Prime--the mini version--was currently having a breakdown, flopped over her arm like a dead mechanocat, fat energon tears rolling off his faceplates, covered in Ironhide's energon. The poor little bot was miserable, whimpering softly, sniffling, occasionally sucking on his fingers. Elita understood completely; dying, being forced into a sparkling's body, being roughed up by Magnus, watching Ironhide collapse--Optimus had been through a lot as of late. The least she could do…

"Come on, Optimus," she cooed gently, lowering her head to brush her mouthplates over his helm. "Want to take a bath? Let's get you all cleaned up, okay? Then we'll go see 'Hide…please?"

Optimus bleeped mournfully, dropping his chin onto her forearm, small, bright blue optics gazing up at her beneath the ridge of his helm. She smiled slightly, rubbing his back gently. "Shh, it's okay. It'll all be alright, Optimus. You'll be back to yourself in no time, and I'll make sure Ironhide's there to see it. Don't cry."

The sparkling released a little sigh, rolling onto his back and going limp in her arms, staring up at her. Expectant. _Gonna give me a bath or what?_ She smiled very faintly, running a hand beneath the solvent.

"Seems good. Wanna give it a go?"

Optimus chirped, sitting himself up and reaching towards the warm liquid. A few droplets landed on his outstretched arms, and he squealed with delight, waving his hands around. More! Tightening her grip around him--she didn't want him thrashing around and flinging himself out of her arms--she slowly edged into the stream of solvent from the overhead nozzle, immersing herself and the sparkling. Optimus went from frantic, happy baby bot to relaxed, purring mechanocat in approximately two astroseconds, going limp once more and shuttering his optics. That felt so nice…

After a breem or so he became vaguely aware of her hand rubbing his helm. Chirping out an inquiry, he tilted his head back to find her rubbing him down with one foamy hand, scrubbing away the energon spots that covered his small body. He warbled, touching the slightly browned stains nervously. It reminded him of Ironhide…

"Hey, don't worry about it," she told him lightly, smiling gently at the precious little sparkling in her arms. "Ironhide's tougher than this. He'll be just fine, I promise. Now how about you sit still and let me clean you up? Then we'll heat you up some energon, hm? Put you down for recharge…"

Optimus seemed to consider before releasing a reluctant bleep, settling down in her arms and allowing her to finish rubbing him clean. She bent her head to brush her mouthplates over his helm. She'd been helping around with Bumblebee since the moment she'd arrived on base over a vorn ago, but it had never really occurred to her just how _tiny_ sparklings really were. Especially _this_ sparkling, in comparison to her strong, reliable lover, seemed so helpless, so frail.

Frowning slightly, she stepped from the shower, swiping a towel off of a nearby rack and wrapping it tenderly around the sparkling. Optimus purred, nuzzling his face into the soft white material, his fingers gripping the folds and pulling them close so the towel formed a kind of hood over his head, only his optics peeping out. Elita giggled, leaning close to touch her noseplates to his. He squealed, little hands reaching out of the towel, latching onto her helm and pulling her closer so he could rub his faceplates against hers. She stayed still, allowing the shower of affection; it was amazing to see Optimus's spark laid bare like this.

Her intakes hitched abruptly, and for the second time that day she crashed to the floor, yelping sparkling clutched in her arms. She felt dizzy at her realization; _she'd held Optimus's spark_. It had only been for a few moments, and it had been in an emergency medical situation, but she'd held it! Between her fingers! It had been nestled in her palms, safe and pulsing away.

_It hadn't gone out_.

She frowned, struggling to think past her excited haze of emotion; didn't Ratchet usually engage a sort of force field around his hands when handling sparks? But he'd dumped Optimus's life force into her palms and it hadn't gone out. Was it because they were sparkmates…?

Elita groaned, looking down at the irritable baby bot in her arms. Optimus was adorable as a sparkling, the most precious thing she'd ever clapped optics on, but she so badly wanted to speak to her adult mech. She wanted to tell him, first and foremost, that she wanted to bond with him the moment they got a chance; she wanted to tell him she loved him more than words or actions could ever convey; she wanted to tell him that she'd cradled him in her hands and his spark had pulsed happily away. She wanted him to know that even without his processor and his memories, he still knew her; she desperately wanted him to understand that they really _did_ have forever, because they were linked in existence. Neither could live without the other…

She couldn't recharge that night, though Optimus slept soundly, curled up in her arms. She sat up on the bed, leaning against the wall, the recharge blankets wrapped snuggly around them like a cocoon. Her thoughts chased themselves around in her processor a thousand times: her Optimus, his Aerith, their Megatron, Chromia's Ironhide, his Optimus, _her_ Optimus…

And then, of course, there was Bloodlust. Primus only knew if the vicious mech had survived, but Elita didn't think she could handle another conflict with him. Optimus was coming closer to death with each encounter. Elita couldn't help but feel that it was Bloodlust's fault that her and Megatron's bond had been broken (although Optimus's virus could have activated at any time). And yet…if Bloodlust hadn't have attacked, if he hadn't triggered the virus, if Optimus hadn't fallen ill…maybe she'd still be in Megatron's recharge berth, waiting patiently to hear if Optimus would be coming home…

* * *

"The trip'll be much faster by ship. We'll be there in just a few breems, so let's make sure that all of our patients are ready to go. Are the extra fuel cells functioning? It's going to take awhile to unload the wounded, but we have to keep the ship running so Optimus's freeze chamber doesn't offline…"

"Yeah, fuel cells are good," the technician said cheerfully, climbing up from the engine hold and accepting the towel Elita handed her. "They can fun for six or seven breems at the least. We'll be fine. Unless we're going to idle in the docking bay using just the extras…?"

"Right, this is an emergency medical transport, so it has to be ready to go at any given time," Prowl replied, bobbing his head up and down. "We'd like to use the engines as little as possible."

The technician shrugged. "Whatever. Point is, they'll run."

Elita cocked her head, watching the tech carefully. Blazer was her name. Quick witted and beautiful and intelligent and a bit of a brat. But easily the greatest technician and engineer Optimus had ever employed.

Also the only femme Ultra Magnus had ever set his spark on.

Elita knew he hadn't made a move yet; the pair was usually too busy arguing for poor Mags to think of romance. For whatever reason, Blazer couldn't seem to stand the mech. Elita agreed that Magnus was a bit distant, a little bit hard to get to know, but she'd never disliked the mech at all. On the contrary, she downright adored him. Magnus was noble, loyal, wonderful; she couldn't for the life of her understand what Blazer had against him.

Then again, Blazer seemed to have something or other against everyone.

"Anyone going to explain to me where--or from whom--that little guy popped out of?" Blazer inquired, jerking a thumb towards the sparkling clutching Elita's leg to stay upright. Optimus squeaked up at the techie, waving one small hand; he'd been friends with Magnus long enough to remember the femme.

"It's Optimus, actually," Elita said somewhat sheepishly, bending down to scoop the eager baby bot into her arms.

"Yours?"

"Huh?"

"Optimus Junior?"

"No!" Elita snapped hotly, her faceplates flushing, and Optimus giggled, clapping his hands and patting her cheekplates. Funny femme. "No. Bloodlust…he…"

"Optimus was mortally injured while fighting," Prowl cut in, and Elita shot him a grateful glance. He nodded once before continuing. "Ratchet does not presently have the essential tools needed to repair him, so he conducted an emergency spark transfer into this sparkling shell. Optimus now has the mental capacity and body of a child."

"…But he waved at me. Like he knew me."

"We have discovered that he recognizes those he holds close to his spark."

Blazer frowned, putting her hands on her hips and cocking her head to the side. "I barely know him, though."

"Optimus is close to someone who cares for you very much," Elita replied smartly, and from behind Blazer, Magnus twitched visibly. He'd been silent since they'd arrived in the engine hold to check on Blazer, and for the most part she'd ignored him; the mech certainly didn't seem comfortable being drawn into the conversation now.

Blazer remained silent for a moment, and Elita could've sworn she saw the femme's optics flicker to somewhere behind her--perhaps searching for the massive mech that everyone else knew loved her--but the astrosecond passed, and Blazer promptly turned on her heel, pushed past Magnus, and slid back down to greet the engines once more.

"Do you need any help?" Magnus offered, and Elita beamed, proud. And then appalled when a wrench was abruptly chucked from the engine pit to clock the thoughtful mech on the foreplates. His head jerked backwards and his shoulders hunched--more in surprise than anything else--and after a moment his faceplates donned a hurt expression. Spark broken, really. He muttered something awkwardly before courteously dropping the wrench back down to her and departing the engine room.

"…Prowl."

"Elita?"

"Take Optimus for me, would you?"

The tactician hesitated; he hadn't had any alone time with his commander since Optimus had gotten his new body, and he certainly knew little to nothing about sparklings. But there was a sort of resolve in Elita's optics that frightened him a bit, so he reluctantly took the squealing child from her arms.

Elita waited until the blast doors slid shut behind him before dropping down into the engine pit, turning to face the vibrantly red femme who was bent over the extra fuel cells, checking them for the trillionth time.

"In case you didn't get the message," Blazer began coolly, "I don't need any help."

"I don't think that's any way to talk to a superior officer," Elita replied in a growl, placing her hands on her hips, one optic ridge arching dangerously. Blazer said nothing, continuing to meticulously scrub down the engine pods. Elita watched her for a fashion, staring thoughtfully as the femme checked pressure gages and temperature readings and the like. The techie seemed to be dawdling.

"Can't you give him a break?" Elita questioned at last, and finally Blazer looked up at her.

"Who? Optimus, for being turned into a sparkling that can't do anything besides crap out leftovers and burp and cry? Nah, he'll never live this one down."

"I meant Ultra Magnus," Elita said flatly.

Blazer cocked her head. "Now that's an odd thing to request. I don't treat him any differently than I do other mechs."

"You threw a wrench at his face because he offered to help you out," Elita said in near exasperation.

Blazer scowled, turning back to her work. "I don't need any mech's help. I manage fine on my own."

Elita sighed heavily, blowing a few puffs of air out her intakes and rolling her optics skyward. "I can respect that. More and more femmes are beginning to feel that they don't need to lean on a mech to survive. But Magnus doesn't think of you as weak or anything. He just…cares. He cares about you very much, Blazer."

"He's that way with everyone," Blazer grumbled, tucking her chin and rocking back on her heels, her back still to her commander. "I'm no different."

"Magnus is helpful because he feels compelled to be so. He feels it's his duty. He _wants_ to help you, Blazer. He _wants_ to be near you."

"…Moron."

"Why would you say that?"

Blazer snorted, throwing down a wrench in favor of a smaller one. "I have what one would call a 'toxic personality'. I don't get along with others very well. Why do you think I became a techie?" She laughed hollowly. "To work with a different kind of machine altogether. See, this engine could fail on me. Stab me in the back. But it's not the engine's fault, is it? It didn't decide to betray me. If this engine fails, it's my own fault." She was silent for a moment; then her shoulders slumped, and her wrench clattered to the ground. "Bots, on the other hand. Mechs, femmes, doesn't matter. They can decide to tear you apart. Hurt you. Give up on you. Turn away. Stop working altogether. They control that. Anything that can think for itself is some degree of evil."

Elita felt frozen; Blazer's words hit home harder than the techie must have believed. They'd struck deep, reaffirmed that terrible truth. Megatron had _willingly _broken their spark bond. He'd broken something sacred, and that was indeed evil. Optimus had betrayed his brother and stolen away Elita's spark, just as she had betrayed Megatron and sought out Optimus.

Evil. To knowingly and willingly hurt another was…evil.

And frag it all to Pit, it had all been for the sake of _love_.

Megatron loved his brother. He loved Optimus. Optimus and Elita loved one another, more passionately and intimately than either was ready for. Maintaining any type of love meant sacrificing that which was held dear, be it a belief or pride or a relationship.

But the results…when Elita thought of what she'd _gained_, it made all the pain seem worth it. She'd found her sparkmate; the mech who for so long had been a mere dream in her processor, her only light when the entire world had seemed so dark. When she'd been separated from Alpha Trion, the only thing that willed her to wake up in the morning was the fact that somewhere in the wide universe, there existed a mech who would love her. Passionately and unconditionally, no matter what she did or said.

And she knew Optimus loved her. He'd risked and lost his relationship with his brother to follow her onto the roof that night; he'd given up on the part of his spark that still cared for Aerith to lean in and kiss Elita One. He'd thrown away _everything…_

"Magnus would never hurt you, Blazer," Elita said softly, and there was such conviction in her voice that it shocked the techie; Elita _believed _what she was saying. "He cares for you. _He loves you_. And no amount of temptation or evil in his spark is going to ever, ever change that."

* * *

The medical bay was quiet and clean. Ironhide was stable, and Optimus's body was frozen. Optimus himself was recharging happily up with Elita in their makeshift quarters.

As far as Ratchet was concerned, everything was perfect. All they had left to do was land, rush Ironhide to the emergency center, and lug Optimus's body into the med bay and begin work immediately. They'd only destroyed one rebel outpost; there'd surely be repercussions, and they couldn't afford to be without a leader.

Ratchet, sadist that he was, couldn't help but enjoy the irony of it all; to think that Optimus finally got the chance to snuggle down with Elita, uninterrupted, and his interface systems weren't even online yet and his cable was the size of a stylus.

"…Ratch…?"

The medic turned at the soft call, blowing air out if his intakes upon recognizing his visitor. "Chromia. I was wondering when you'd show up. Come here."

He beckoned her closer, taking her hand comfortingly as he led her into their intensive care unit. The femme looked even more bedraggled and sad in the harsh lights of the medical bay, and Ratchet squeezed her hand gently. It hurt him to see her this upset. Just another thing the damn rebels had ruined.

Ratchet typed in his ID code quickly, giving Chromia the visitor's code so she could see her sparkmate at will, and led the femme into the dimmed room. She didn't need a light to find her sparkmate: she was at his side in a moment, clutching his hand, stroking his faceplates, murmuring words of comfort over the hiss of the ventilators. Ratchet hovered for a moment, checking Ironhide's vitals briefly before awkwardly backing out of the room. He needed to go check up on Optimus--both of them--anyway…

Chromia lost track of time within a few astroseconds. She felt like her world was being rent apart at the seams. Ironhide was unconscious, down and out, and Optimus was a sparkling, for crying out loud. Primus, she hadn't even been to the clinic yet; there was no telling which of her friends had made it through the battle alive.

Her sparkmate nearly hadn't.

She trembled; it was barely visible, and anyone who didn't know her well would have thought they'd been imagining it. But she shook again, and without pausing to think if it was alright, she slipped into the recharge berth with her offlined sparkmate.

Chromia actually held it in for another breem or so before she buried her face into his neck and cried.

* * *

"Ouch. Watch it, will ya? You ought to treat heroic war veterans with a little respect than--DAMMIT, PERCEPTOR, WATCH WHERE YOU STICK THAT THING!"

"My apologies, Rodimus, but your ceaseless babble has rather impaired my ability to concentrate on the task at hand."

"I don't know what you're saying!"

"Translation--shut up," Springer clarified, striding through the blast doors into the clinic to plop down beside his best friend. "Dude can't focus if you're ripping his head off, Roddy Bear."

"I don't think that's any way to talk to a commanding officer, Springy Boo."

"Aw, go frag a toaster."

"…Your creator."

"What did you say?!"

"Both of you shut up before I weld your mouthplates closed," Ratchet growled, storming into the clinic. "And I _will_weld them such that it will look as if you two are wildly making out, and I will force you to go tromping all the way from the med bay to the lowest levels of the base to have Wheeljack pry you apart with a crowbar. And even after you're ripped apart, completely destroying your lip components, your mouthplates are going to be stuck in a gaping position for quite some time, or until I get over it enough to fix you. Am I perfectly clear?"

"I cannot imagine that Arcee would find that very attractive," Perceptor quipped, and Rodimus scowled while Springer laughed.

"Yo, Hatch," Rodimus said, calling the CMO back before he could run off to tend to other patients. "How's Optimus? I heard he got hurt bad, but I didn't get any details."

Ratchet paused, wondering how exactly to answer the question. "Optimus is fine as of right now," he replied slowly, carefully. "I believe he is going to recover. We are trying a somewhat radical method of repair, and it's not guaranteed to go smoothly all the way through, but I've been over the theory a thousand times and I think he'll be alright in the end."

"…You said a lot, but I didn't really learn anything," Rodimus said flatly. "Look, is he alive?"

"Yes."

"Is he in the medical bay?"

"No."

"Is he in pain?"

"Not that I know of."

"Is he going to die any time soon?"

"I don't believe so."

"Then I'm good," Rodimus finished, leaning back and shuttering his optics. "Hatchet."

"Yes?"

"Bring me some sedatives, would ya? Severed arms are kinda like hangovers; it's best to just sleep 'em off."

* * *

"Can you not sit still? Compared to what a lot of femme-friends might put you through, this is merciful, you know. I'm taking you to see Ironhide, aren't I? And all I'm asking for in return is that you sit quietly until we get there, but_ nooo…_"

Elita huffed, looking down at her sparkling. Optimus. It was hard to get mad at something that was so adorable. He was squealing excitedly, patting eagerly at her arms and blinking and cooing up at her; he may have been small, but he was smart. He knew where they were going.

Elita banged a foot on the blast doors that led into the medical bay, waiting to be let in. She didn't have a code of her own, and the guest ID was currently in use. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, teasing Optimus and tickling his stomach until the doors slid apart, revealing a grumpy-looking medic.

"No pets allowed," he growled out, but Elita shoved past him.

"Where's Ironhide?"

"Resting. Chromia's with him. Did I say you could come in?"

"Can we go see him?"

"How about 'Can we come in?'"

"Ratchet, please."

The CMO sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping wearily. "Yeah. Sure. Fine. Go ahead."

"…Ratch."

"Huh?"

"Thank you."

He grunted, dismissing her, but he could hardly ignore the quick kiss she placed upon his cheek.

The medic didn't get enough credit, she decided gloomily as she wandered through the relatively small medical bay. Ratchet was amazing, and so few seemed to see that; too busy yelling at him to inject a pain killer. Little did they know that using pain killers often made the pain worse later on. Little did they know that he couldn't sedate bots with only minor injuries because the High Council didn't offer enough funds to pay for the sedative agents, and that he often paid for them out of his own sub pocket. Everyone seemed to ignore the fact that, though obnoxious at times, he was really more of a gentlemech than any other male on base. How many femmes must he see every day? Tens, pouring in with the little aches and pains femme frames were prone to. And not one of them had ever complained of being uncomfortable around the medic, or feeling harassed sexually. And to think that while they were in his med bay he was in complete control; he could tell them to remove all their armor and they'd be none the wiser. But Ratchet was courteous, kind, actually gentle; his sole purpose in life was to save others, and Elita loved him for it.

Not only that, but when she counted the number of times he'd saved her Megatron…her Optimus…the number of times any other medic would have left them to die on the operating table, and yet Ratchet always pulled them through…

Optimus released a warble, lifting a small hand to pat her throat; it was about as high as he could reach. Her grip was slackening. Apologizing softly, she hoisted him higher in her arms, brushing her mouthplates over the crest of his helm. He was so sweet. So small. She could bear this for a little while…

They found Ironhide's room after a few breems of searching, but it was still with some hesitancy that she slipped in through the doors. It was dark, yet she didn't turn on the lights; the room had an air that made her think it didn't want to be disturbed. She blinked around for a moment, allowing her optics to adjust, and finally was able to pick out the oversized recharge berth in the corner. Her spark sank; she could easily see Ironhide now, strapped down and filled with tubing and wires, all breathing and moving his pump because he could not. And, curled at his side like a lonely mechanocat, was Chromia.

Elita sighed, moving forward quietly to stand at her friends' side. She reached out tentatively, brushing gentle fingers across Chromia's face; the smooth, pliant plates were wet. Elita chewed on her lower lip, Optimus sat quiet and still in her arms. She didn't want to disturb the couple. But Chromia must be in such pain…

"Mia," she murmured softly, gently shaking her best friend's shoulder. "Chromia. Come on, babe. Wake up."

After a moment the dark blue frame stirred, and Chromia's intense optics flickered to life. She turned her face, blinking wearily up at her surrogate sister. "…Lita…?"

"Hi," Elita whispered, smiling slightly. "Are you okay?"

"…Been better…"

"Listen, let's get up for a few breems, okay? Stretch out your legs, keep everything lubricated. You need to get some energon, too, you're under energized."

"I'm not leaving him alone," Chromia said immediately, her arms tightening around Ironhide's frame. Elita knew the feeling; it had been impossibly hard to let Jetfire and Starscream take Optimus away, even if it had been for his own good.

"We won't leave him alone," Elita reassured the panicked femme gently, speaking softly, rubbing her friend's back. "I was planning on leaving Optimus here. He's been badgering me about seeing Ironhide. He's a good little sparkling, he won't hurt him or disrupt the equipment."

Optimus chirped as if in agreement, reaching out to pat Chromia's back gently, mimicking Elita. Chromia was immediately reminded that this sparkling--this tiny, breakable little creature--was actually their mighty commander. She and Ironhide had raised Optimus since sparklinghood, but she never could think of herself as the young mech's mother, regardless of how much her sparkmate had been one of Optimus's father figures. But she loved Optimus all the same; he was like a brother, a cousin, her best friend besides Elita. Optimus was nearly as rough-and-tumble as she was once she pushed him around a bit. She'd always been able to count on the mech for a match in the shooting range, too (of course, Ironhide was always available, but she couldn't trounce him).

And how many times had Optimus sought her out when she'd been in hiding, as if he knew instinctively that she and Ironhide were fighting or that the pressures of war were building on her spark? How often had he alone been able to find her, crouched down, patted her back and whispered that it would all be alright? It sounded stupid coming from anyone else, but when Optimus said it she believed. Of course everything would be alright. Everything would work out in the end. It always did. Just as Optimus said it would.

Chromia sighed, kissing Ironhide gently before unfolding herself from the recharge berth. She plucked the sparkling from Elita's arms, kissing him too before saying sternly, "Now, Optimus, you keep a sharp optic on him, alright? I need you to keep him company while I'm gone. Can you do that for me?"

Optimus bobbed his head up and down, patting her cheekplates. His bright blue optics sparkled, and though he said nothing, she read his message through that pure, that innocent gaze--

_It's going to be alright._

**I actually did find myself in a medical situation today. The only problem was that I was the patient...I think I almost fainted in gym class. I was lightheaded and feeling very detached, almost like I wasn't consciously moving my body. Blinking a lot and shaking my head to try and clear the feeling, it was weird to have like five people leaning over me asking if I was alright. I figure it could have been attributed to my a.) insomnia b.) malnutrtion c.) generalized anxiety or d.) depression, but I really do believe I was dehydrated. So, that's all good :D**

**Not sure what's happening next chapter. Hopefully we'll get back to Cybertron, and maybe start to focus on healing Optimus and Ironhide up.**

**Oh yes, and the conversation between Nova and Trion may be getting a rewrite--as Litahatchee gently pointed out, it made no sense at all :D In hindsight, I'm really not surprised. But I've got it figured out now, so I'll clarify if I see fit.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

_Plenoptic_

**One of my favorite fics OF ALL TIME gets updated every six months or so…I know what you guys go through waiting for NB. (DECISIONS hasn't been updated in a year or so). (Glaring viciously at a certain Aussie who is going to get stabbed with a spork.)**

**Why is all of my fan fiction stuff going to my spam folder? **

**I guess a lot of my mannerisms and speech patterns and whatnot have rubbed off on Blazer. Unless I'm just getting back from karate, I hate showers. With a passion. I'm a bit catlike that way. And playing in dirt is fun :D**

**Back to business. Please enjoy, please review, and if I fail my finals, it's all your guys' fault.**

* * *

"Okay, back up. How do you _break_ a sparkbond?"

"I don't know. Somehow he did it."

"So where's your spark?"

"Still with hers, I suppose."

"Aw, bro…"

"No, don't give me that. Finish your energon."

Eclipse grinned and chugged down the last of the cube from her perch on her elder brother's berth. The remnants of Elita's feminine presence hadn't faded from Megatron's quarters; they still offered a comforting, motherly sort of atmosphere. Megatron was probably relying on it more than he realized, Eclipse decided, looking around at the near spotless shelves. He'd been keeping up with the cleaning, in any case…

"I never thought you and Optimus would fight over a femme," Eclipse mused, tossing her emptied cube into the waste reciprocal. "And you've forgiven him?"

"Of course I have," Megatron replied, so smoothly, so flawlessly, that no one would ever believe it was the biggest lie to have ever escaped his lips. "There was nothing to forgive, really. I consciously broke my sparkbond to Elita. To save him, of course, but…"

"I'm sure he was grateful," Eclipse said gently, her soft blue optics blinking at her brother as he hunched over his desk. "He probably just didn't have the time to tell you."

Megatron could accept that, at least; he'd stormed out of the base before he and Optimus had had a chance to talk properly. He almost regretted it now, what with the unhappy reports coming from the front--news of a _change_ in his elder brother--but at the same time the Protectorate knew there was no turning back. He'd set something in motion that he couldn't possibly reverse, and someone--himself, Optimus, Elita, or Aerith--was indefinitely going to suffer the consequences.

"Aside from our messy love--er, square--I'm more interested to know what's happened to you," Megatron said, looking up from his computer to frown at his grown little sister. "You should be a youngling. It's only been…what, a vorn?"

"Since the rebellion broke out, yup," Eclipse agreed, bobbing her head up and down. "You know how I went missing, yeah?"

"Of course," Megatron said stiffly, lifting up his energon cube.

"Well, I met this mech called Alpha Trion, and--"

Eclipse yelped when her brother abruptly choked, spitting the contents of his energon cube all over his desk, hacking and coughing it up out his intakes.

"You _what_?!"

"A mech named--Megs, are you okay?" she demanded, getting up to walk over to his desk and help him clean up. "That was a little…weird."

"That mech is _everywhere_," Megatron muttered, dazed, picking up a cleaning rag and absently rubbing down his desktop. "It's insane. Insane…"

Eclipse watched her elder brother, frowning, blue optics dark and puzzled. "I'll tell you about it when Optimus comes home, okay?" she suggested, taking the rag from him to clean up properly. "I don't want one of you to know before the other does. Do you know where Wingsaber is?"

Megatron shook his head. "You know what, though? That name sounds familiar…"

* * *

Blazer looked over the engine pods again, trying to steady her nerves. Just a joor to go. Just a joor, and then…if the back up supply didn't hold, if Optimus's freeze chamber shut down…if his body tried to come online without his spark to give it life…

"It's going to be fine," Ultra Magnus assured her, handing her a rag so she could wipe away the moisture given off by the engines that had condensed on her armor. "You're a brilliant technician, I'm sure the engines will hold."

"If they don't, I as good as killed Optimus myself," she said glumly, reaching up to him, and he lifted her up and out of the engine hold with a steady grip on her waist. He plopped her down gently at his side before closing the hatch.

"You're a mess," he chuckled, wiping a hint of ash and dirt from her cheekplate, and she scowled.

"Shut it, smart aft, or I'll weld your mouthplates to the ceiling."

Magnus laughed, and even she couldn't hold down a smile. She'd taken Elita's words to spark, thought seriously about what she meant to Magnus--about what Magnus meant to her. Blazer may not have been looking for a bondmate--yet--but it was certainly nice to have a friend. She only barely understood him, and he only barely understood her, but it was enough. It unnerved her just how very attached she was becoming to the mech; she was even a bit scared.

At least it was Magnus. At least it was someone kind and noble and thoughtful and intelligent rather than some blundering moron who just wanted to get underneath her armor. At least it was Magnus: handsome and quiet, more of a gentle giant than even Prime. Magnus, the possessor of eons of latent wisdom and strength.

"You do a lot of work for a femme with such a delicate frame," he noted, taking one small hand into his giant one. He dwarfed her completely.

"It's not so uncommon," she replied, shrugging. "I wanted to be a soldier at first. But, you know…some painful memories, and…I really don't have the body for it. This frame is kind of crappy, it's a new definition of breakable. Elita and Chromia may look a bit delicate, but in comparison…"

"You must be quite the sight when you're all waxed up," Magnus noted, and she looked up into his face to find him smiling broadly, his wide, kind optics twinkling at her. "Any femme who can look this beautiful with dirt all over her face…"

"I'd strongly recommend not even finishing that thought," she growled. "I don't do wax. Or cleaning, for that matter. That's not really how I roll."

"You won't even give it a try?"

"Nope. You have a problem with that?" she challenged.

"Absolutely not," he replied, and she blinked, surprised. "I like you that way."

Blazer stared at him, completely dumbfounded. A mech who _liked_ femmes who played in the dirt? A mech who _liked_ a femme with brains? What?

Magnus chuckled and leaned forward--and kissed her. Softly, gently, a light pressing of his lips to hers, and in a sudden inexplicable moment of rapture, she could have sworn she felt her spark stop.

* * *

"Megatron's back?!--Oh, frag, sorry, Optimus, I'm sorry…"

The sparkling whined in Elita's arms, now covered in the energon she had inadvertently spilled when she let loose her exclamation. Jetfire and Ultra Magnus stood in the door jamb, watching with amusement as the femme hurriedly cleaned up the miniature commander. Optimus was licking his sticky fingers, clearly enjoying having the femme rub him down with the damp rag. Maybe he'd get another bath out of this deal!

"When did he get back?" Elita asked, flustered, looking up at the waiting mechs.

"Not too long ago. He and this other mech just turned up on the base's doorstep, apparently. Firestar said that someone else showed up, but she wouldn't tell us who."

Elita arched an optic ridge. "Someone else? Like who, I wonder?"

"She said Megatron wanted to wait until Optimus got home. Of course…" Jetfire gestured helplessly to the sparkling on the berth, who was now chewing on the tips of his feet. He squeaked when he lost his balance and flopped over onto his side. Optimus flailed uselessly for a few moments, accidentally cocooning himself in the blankets, before releasing a bleep for help. Elita, however, wasn't paying attention.

"Megatron showed up with another mech?"

"Yeah." Jetfire propped himself against the doorjamb, leaning back against it. "An orphan he found, or something. He's about your age, I think. Maybe a bit younger."

"Huh…" Elita contemplated the news for a moment before realizing that Optimus was wailing. Turning, she sighed and bent down to delicately unravel the fragile bot from the thermal blankets.

"Watch yourself, will you?" she groaned, tickling his abdominal plating, making him shriek with excitement. Play time! "You're a lot more mortal in this body, Optimus. And you got yourself blown up enough to begin with…"

"Ratch did want us to inform you that Optimus's body is in a cryogenic chamber and perfectly stable," Ultra Magnus quipped, arching an optic ridge at the sparkling's antics. "And I don't remember him being this energetic the first time around."

"'Hide said Opt was traumatized when he was a sparkling," Rodimus said informatively, striding over to the berth and offering Optimus a hand; the tiny bot leapt upon it, chewing enthusiastically on Roddy's fingers. "He didn't talk or anything until he was a youngling."

"He didn't talk?" Elita repeated, her optic ridges furrowing.

"Nope. Not a word. Apparently they could never shut Megatron up, but Optimus always kept quiet…" Rodimus trailed off, watching the sparkling as Optimus sagged against Elita's leg, his small face scrunching into a yawn, his optic shutters drooping. Elita ran a finger down his helm, smiling slightly as he drifted into recharge.

"He's so…_cute_," Magnus muttered, shaking his head slightly. "He'll never live this one down."

"It's not his fault," Elita replied, gently lifting the snoozing baby bot into her arms. Optimus curled into a ball, snuggling up against the armor of her chest. He could feel her spark pulsing down there…

Both Rodimus and Elita "aww"d when Optimus stuck a tiny thumb into his mouth, settling down and sinking fully into recharge. His systems hummed softly, reassuringly, and for just a moment, Elita could convince herself that everything wasn't going to Pit.

* * *

The impromptu medical bay was quiet and still. Dark. The only sound came from the soft hum of the machines that were keeping a certain trigger-happy mech alive. His blue mate was curled up beside him on the recharge berth, one arm wrapped protectively around her bonded's waist. She was offline, recharging in relative peace now that Ironhide's processor had been showing signs of activity. She was perhaps dreaming of the moment when he would awaken, when he could tell her who had done this to him…

Rodimus and Springer stood quietly outside the door (Rodimus's arm was thankfully reattached), taking turns peering in at the couple through the door's small window. They were standing as a sort of sentinel for the pair, determined that nothing would disturb Ironhide's recovery. Springer was also certain that Chromia wouldn't want anyone to see her in such a vulnerable state; she was powerful on her own, strong, a truly astounding femme, but she really was better with Ironhide standing firm at her side.

"What're we gonna do?" Rodimus murmured softly, shaking Springer from his musings. "Ironhide down…Optimus down…this is Nebulon all over again."

"Whoever's writing this mad story of a reality has some serious planning issues," Springer sighed, and Rodimus arched an optic ridge. "Face it, man. This craziness could just a be a plotline in some nutty little femme's story."

"You've really lost your processor, haven't you?"

"I'm being serious! Magnus and I were talking about it the other day--how insane would it be if we were just characters in a story?"

"You really are a hopeless case. Primus, you're worse than Kup! Where do all of these whack ideas _come_ from?"

"Did you notice that Optimus has been half-killed in every battle lately?! I'm telling you, it's a lack of planning and a freakish obsession on the author's part!"

"I think Ratchet gave you too much pain medication…"

They both jumped when the doors abruptly slid open, heralding a very weary Chromia. "Oh," she said, blinking and confused. "What're you two up to?"

"Uh…" Rodimus shifted his gaze towards Springer, who was suddenly very quiet. "Just…hanging around."

"…Next to the med bay? Do you have a death wish?"

"Optimus is getting a check-up," Rodimus replied sheepishly, smiling slightly. The tips of Chromia's mouthplates twitched.

"Where's Elita?"

"In her and Optimus's quarters. Hey, that's a new one. Never thought I'd hear myself say it. It's been 'Lita and Megatron' up till now, huh?"

"Don't say that around Opt and Lita, I think they're just starting to get over it," Springer said flatly, regaining the use of his vocalizer. "It's gonna be hard now that Megatron's come back to base."

Chromia was quiet, then she abruptly let loose a shout, stamping a foot on the ground. Springer and Roddy both jumped, startled.

"Frag! Mia, what's wrong?"

"Slag it!" she snarled, kicking a wall, and the mechs leapt away, as both had been victim to her anger on more than one occasion. "Damn Megatron! Optimus and Elita are in love, why can't he just let them be?! Why do we all have to fight so hard to get a little bit of happiness around here?!"

The males exchanged a glance, and for the briefest of seconds Rodimus thought he saw a flicker of emotion in Springer's optics…but then it was gone. As the Triple Changer attempted to calm the femme, the sub-commander watched his green friend curiously. What was that? It could have been sadness, but it looked more like…

Guilt?

He was abruptly brought back to reality by a soft sob; Chromia had stopped abusing the wall but now had her face in her hands, crying softly. The mechs stood helplessly on either side of her, unsure of what to do; this was such a change from the aft-kicking, trigger-happy femme they both knew. They'd never seen Chromia so…broken.

"Dammit," she sobbed, wiping her optics furiously. "Frag it all to Pit! Why does it have to be so h-hard? I f-finally get Ironhide b-back and now his s-spark might give out…and O-Optimus is a Pit-fragging s-sparkling, for Primus's s-sake…"

"…Mia…"

"Chromia, Primus…I'm sorry…"

Rodimus felt a pang in his spark, remembering his Arcee, clutching him, crying to him, begging him to come back to her, and he resisted the urge to finger the gem in his subspace.

_Why do femmes have to be so damn emotional?_ he wondered, shaking his head slightly.

* * *

The atmosphere on the ship was the most tense it had ever been. Ratchet and Wheeljack were both busily checking the cryogenic chamber, optic ridges furrowed, talking in hushed tones. Elita stood nearby with the sparkling Optimus in her arms, but her optics were focused on the tiny portion of the adult mech she could see through the chamber's tiny window. His optics were dim above his sleek battle mask, head leant forward slightly. If she didn't know better, Elita would have said he was recharging.

"Soon," she murmured to the angsty sparkling, brushing her mouthplates over Optimus's face. The tiny bot whined, reaching for the chamber, optics intent upon his older self.

"So here's how it's gonna go down," Wheeljack began, turning to Elita as Magnus, Springer, and Rodimus all trooped into the little room. "We power down the main ship, and Blazer's gonna monitor the backup engines. Anything goes wrong, she gives us a holler and we power up the main engine right away. Jetfire's stationed in the control room, so that'll be his job. So provided the backups are running, we're going to put little Optimus into stasis. The next part will have to be the fastest and most efficient. We unplug the chamber, lay it down, open it up, and operate on Optimus from in there. Ratchet has already soldered up the worst of his injuries, so it should be safe to transport his spark. The major healing will take place later…"

"Once we have Optimus opened up and ready to go," Ratchet interrupted, turning to Elita, "you will have the all-important job of transporting his spark from one body to the other."

"Me?" Elita asked, optics blinking in surprise. "Why me?"

"Because you can hold Optimus's spark without a containment chamber," Ratchet said briskly, leaning against the cryogenic chamber (Magnus and Rodimus winced when it creaked ominously). "Which is convenient, means less work for me. But you'll have to do it fast, okay? Don't be nervous, you're going to do just fine, but do be careful."

"Sure," Elita muttered, glancing down at the now snoozing baby bot. She was going to miss little Optimus. "Wheeljack, do you suppose you could hold onto this frame?"

"I was planning on it," the inventor replied, a bit taken aback. "May I ask why?"

"Um…" Elita shifted uncomfortably. "That is…if Optimus and I were to ever have a sparkling…then…"

"You'd want it housed in this frame?" Wheeljack brightened, his fins flashing. "Sure thing! I never thought of that! Yup, yup, this one's reserved for the royal couple, ya got my word as an inventor!"

Elita beamed. "Thanks, 'Jack."

"Yeah!"

"Great, now he's got something to gloat about," Ratchet grumped, shaking his head and peering in through the window. "No exterior damage to Prime's frame…well, at least due to the freezing. Wheeljack, write this down!"

"Right, sorry, sorry!"

"No exterior damage…vitals are all down…no activity whatsoever…we'll need to check the lines for freezing when we pump his energon back in…"

"Back in?!"

"Well, we had to remove it to solder up his injuries," Ratchet said matter-of-factly. "We also checked it for any viruses, in case the same thing that hit Ironhide got Optimus too. 'Jack, it looks good here…when we land, we'll be able to move Optimus's spark."

"We're landing in about three breems," Jetfire announced, poking his head in through the door. "Red Alert just radioed in, the med bay's ready for casualties. And by the way, does someone have a rifle on them?"

"Why?" Rodimus inquired, arching an optic ridge, and Jetfire growled.

"Because I need to kill someone, why else?"

"Let's not and say we did," Elita groaned. "Who do you want to kill, Jetfire?"

"Starts with an 'H' and rhymes with 'otshot'," Jetfire replied, and Rodimus smacked his forehead with a palm.

"Oh, very cryptic," Springer muttered, turning on his comm link. "Hotshot? Jetfire's after your energon, run for your life."

"What the frag?! You're not supposed to tell him! Ugh!" Jetfire turned on his heel and bolted out the door, snarling insults under his breath.

"I don't know how Optimus deals with those two," Ratchet muttered. "There are enough idiots running around base without them trying to kill each other as well…alright, I'm going to go ensure that our crit patients get out of here fast enough, then I'll be back up to assist with Optimus. Wheeljack, hold the fort, and provide Hotshot sanctuary if he comes by…"

"Got it," Wheeljack replied, optics crinkling in a grin, and bade Ratchet goodbye as the medic hurried out the door. "Elita, got any questions?"

"I'm good," she said faintly, clutching Optimus in a death grip. He peeped open an optic and squawked indignantly at the rough treatment. "Do you think it'll go okay?"

"It'll be just fine," Wheeljack said reassuringly, smiling behind his mask. "We'll get Optimus in for a full repair and he'll be back up on his feet in no time."

"But you've never done a procedure like this, have you?"

"Er…" Wheeljack faltered for a moment. "Well, we got his spark out and into the shell. Can't be that much harder to do it in reverse, can it?"

Elita groaned quietly, and Optimus squeaked, patting her chestplates.

"Enjoy it," she grumbled, patting his aft. "In a few breems I'll be allowed to knee you in the crotch for doing that."

Optimus giggled and snuggled his head against her chest, searching for the warm pulse of her spark. Wheeljack nervously checked on Big Optimus, tapping on the glass of the viewing mirror and muttering under his breath.

"Two breems," Jetfire said through their comm links. Whatever playfulness he had been feeling earlier was gone now; Prime's self-proclaimed right hand mech was all business now. "Wheeljack, are we okay?"

"It's all good, it'll go smoothly," Wheeljack murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "It'll be all right…"

The breem passed in tense silence. Elita scooted over to a window and smiled slightly at the sight of Iacon rising up in the distance, its tall spires reaching out to greet them.

"One breem," Ratchet announced breathlessly, rushing into the little room and dislodging Rodimus, Springer, and Magnus from their spot on the wall. "Move, all of you, get over here…Wheeljack, walk them through this, get them to lay the chamber flat and _don't pull out any wires!_ Elita, come here, we're going to put the pup into stasis…"

Elita stepped closer, but her spark suddenly flooded with anxiety and grief. She'd come to adore this sparkling, he was so innocent, so sweet…was it time to say good-bye already?

"It's okay," Ratchet soothed softly, reading the expression on her stricken faceplates. "It's still Optimus. It's his spark, Elita, he'll be the same way on the inside."

"I know," she whispered, moving slowly to his side. "I know that. Just do it fast, Ratchet, make sure there's no pain…"

"There won't be," the medic assured her, patting Optimus to calm him while he gently emptied the contents of his syringe into the tiny bot's energon line. Little Optimus bleeped, already rendered sleepy by the effects of the stasis agent pumping through his miniature body.

Elita cooed down at him, hoisting him up in her arms. "It's okay," she whispered, softly pressing her lip components to his foreplate. "I love you…"

"Blazer says the back ups are running perfectly, and Jetfire is getting ready to power down the main engine," Magnus reported briskly. "Ratchet, now or never…"

There was a gentle _thunk_ as the ship came to rest in the docking bay; there was a flurry of sound and motion outside, but the cryogenic room was eerily still. With Magnus's line open for Blazer and Rodimus's for Jetfire, Wheeljack gently pried open the chamber, exposing Optimus's frosty, battered body to the elements. Elita set the silent sparkling down on a nearby table, and Ratchet eased open the chestplates while Wheeljack did the same to the adult frame's.

"Easy now," Ratchet murmured, making a small enforcement field around the sparkling's outer chamber. "It won't go out on you, just do it like last time…"

Elita inhaled and exhaled deeply before reaching into the sparkling's chest, silently bidding the child good-bye, and gently cupping Optimus Prime's spark in her palms. It seemed to rise up to greet her, moving into her hands the same way the sparkling had crawled into her lap, cozying up in her cradle.

With Ratchet guiding her, she cautiously turned around, optics fixed on the spark with both audios silently begging Magnus not to speak up with news from Blazer. The back up engines couldn't go out now…

Time almost seemed to slow as she stepped closer to the adult frame, gazing down at the wounded body and chipped, cracked armor. Optimus. _Her_ Optimus. The mech who'd guided her into his berth not so long ago, though it felt like eternity…

She looked at his spark again. It was breath taking, just the very sight of it made her own stand still. Radiant and bright blue, it cast a light throughout the room, illuminating them in an eerily warm sort of glow. The mechs in the corner stood transfixed; Wheeljack, so taken by the sight, nearly forgot to monitor the chamber. Warm tendrils of energy lapped gently at her fingers, softly pushing her onward, until…

"Down he goes," Ratchet murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder, and with all delicacy Elita leaned down and eased the spark into Optimus's open and waiting chest.

She yelped when the spark jumped into the casing, sending a small discharge racing up and down her circuits; Rodimus and Springer leapt forward to catch her when she staggered. Ratchet pounced, lunging at the chamber and hurriedly closing up the spark casing.

"Sorry, should have warned you about that part," he said briskly, inserting a tube into the energon line in Optimus's neck. "Wheeljack, pump him back up. Magnus, have Blazer on stand-by, ready to power down the back ups, we want to save as much energy as possible. Starting the drip…Magnus, please have the defibrillators ready in case it doesn't take…"

"Roger that. They're charged…"

Elita tentatively reached out a hand to caress Optimus's helm, a rush of longing filling her at the sight of her prone lover. She wanted to be held by him, caressed and kissed and loved…she wanted so badly to fall back into that warmth that had so captured her before, and she never wanted to leave.

It happened all at once: a bright flash beneath Optimus's chestplates, Magnus leaping forward with the defibrillators, Ratchet taking them into his hands, poised above the mech. Optimus's body jerked violently, and ice cracked faintly across the surface of his armor.

"Turn down the temperature, get it back to normal," Ratchet snapped, and Wheeljack immediately complied. "Here we go," the medic muttered, lowering the defibrillators, sending a shock of electricity straight through Optimus's sensitive neural net and into his pump.

It burst to life, and Elita released a long cry of relief upon seeing his lines darken as the energon was forced through them. Optimus coughed faintly, his optics flickering on and off a few times; a trace wound in his shoulder began to leak gently, and Ratchet was quick to solder it up.

"Optimus?" Elita breathed, kneeling down to put her face closer to his. "Optimus, love, can you hear me?"

The mech twitched and groaned softly, fingers moving restlessly. Elita reached out a trembling hand to take his, optics threatening to flood with tears. "_Optimus_…"

After a moment of silence the mech cracked open an optic, turning his head to look at her. He coughed twice, bringing his vocalizer up to speed, before speaking very softly.

"Did we win?"

* * *

**PLENOPTIC IS DONE WITH FINALS! Whoo! (collapses and dies) I didn't even need to study that much…whew :D **

**Leave me a review as a congratulations present? :3**

**I don't really know what the point of the whole Rodimus-Springer-Chromia interaction was. Character development? Or maybe I slipped in a bit of foreshadowing…?**

**By the way, the whole medical scene was really hard to write (cries). I didn't know it would wind up so complicated...and it wasn't even that complicated! I ought to practice more...anyway, now that Optimus is big again, he gets to see Eclipse and spend time with Elita and what's this? Meet the parents?**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

_Plenoptic_

**We get Friday off as a YOU'RE-DONE-WITH-FINALS present (for some reason they're letting out all the munchkins too--we're so offended, they should have to suffer some more) so I figured I'd spend the day writing :3 NO HOMEWORK! **

**Now that Optimus is big again, I get to have some fun. His being a sparkling was a good plot twist, but making him grow up was a pain. Now to answer some long abandoned questions…**

**Please enjoy, please review, in dat order.**

* * *

"I was a _what_?"

"A sparkling. I told you, we had to move your spark into a frame, and that was all we had available at the time."

"I know, but…a _sparkling_?"

Elita sighed and rubbed her helm tiredly. The medical bay was overcrowded and noisy, stuffed with casualties, and as Optimus wasn't dying, his berth had been shuffled into a corner and out of the way, leaving Elita with no choice but to snuggle up as close to him as she could. She didn't really mind--she'd so desperately missed being near her big mech--but it was sort of awkward in such a public place.

"These berths are too small," she complained quietly, and Optimus chuckled softly, his chest reverberating gently beneath her head. She purred, one hand ghosting over his abdomen, the touch feather-light so as not to disturb his wounds. Ratchet had reassured her that as long as Optimus held still, the welding would not come undone, but Elita was cautious all the same.

Optimus sighed, tightening his arm around his lover and resting his helm against hers. He frowned, scouring his memory banks for the thousandth time. His processor had taken an odd jump from being sliced in half to lying in cryogenic chamber; anything that had happened in between was a blur. Hard to believe that he'd been a sparkling for nearly two joors…

"I was…I…"

He tilted his head down slightly to look at the femme struggling over her own words. Elita was frowning, hand clenched into a fist on his abdomen. His thumb rubbed absently at the plating of her back, and her spark cried out at the touch.

"I was sure I had lost you," Elita whispered, lowering her gaze. She couldn't bear to look at him when she felt so weak. "Out there on the battlefield, I thought…I thought you were going to…going to _die_."

"…You felt this before or after you tripped over me?"

She let out a squawk, sitting up and glaring at him. "I already apologized for that, didn't I? And if I _hadn't _tripped over you, you really would be dead, you ungrateful little--"

"Primus, I can't even lighten the mood without you jumping down my throat!" he groaned, shuttering his optics and lying his head back with a wince. A moment passed before Elita lowered herself back down, rolling onto her side to face him fully.

"Are you in pain?"

"Not much," he mumbled distantly. He sighed heavily, shaking his head slightly. "I'm tired."

She lifted a hand to gently stroke his mask. "Of course you are," she murmured, leaning in to brush her lips softly over his audio. "Of course you are, love. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. You need to rest."

He turned his head and onlined his optics to look at her, blinking slowly. "You'll tell me about it, won't you? My being a sparkling. You'll tell me what you felt?"

She stilled, her hand pausing in its caresses. Optimus hesitated a moment before nudging against her palm, and Elita pulled his mask away as if in a daze. He leaned and kissed her gently, pressing his lips softly to hers, shuttering his optics and moaning quietly. A rush of desire filled him from the inside out, making his spark burn. He deepened their kiss, gently delving his glossa into her mouth, relishing her sweet taste.

Elita lay back and accepted his kiss, reciprocating gently, allowing him to awkwardly move on top of her. Their mouths pressed together, kissing in such perfect unison, reading one another's cues expertly, as if they'd been together an eternity rather than only orns.

One large, warm hand strayed downwards to stroke her thigh, and her optics snapped open. "Optimus," she gasped weakly, moaning when his mouth smothered her voice. "N-No…Optimus, you need rest, we can't--_we're in the med bay, for Primus's sake_!"

Optimus lifted his head and glanced over to see Rodimus and Springer watching from nearby, lying on their sides in separate berths. Their posture and expressions were identical; propping their heads on a fist, grins splitting their faceplates nearly in half.

Grumbling, Prime looked back down, and was surprised to find that Elita had wriggled out from underneath him and was now forcing him onto his back and back under the thermal blankets.

"Wait, Elita, I don't--no, I'm fine, I--_ungh_!"

His hand flew to his abdomen, clutching at his wounds as a fresh surge of pain shot through his circuits. Elita was with him in an astrosecond, her hand joining his, sweet voice murmuring soft words of comfort into his audios as the pain died away.

"You're hurt, love," she whispered, pressing her foreplate to his and gazing intently into his pained optics. "Ratchet will be able to tend to you soon, and in the meantime I want you to recharge. Please?"

Optimus nodded weakly, and she kissed his foreplate tenderly before tucking the thermal blankets more snuggly around his physique. It was odd, taking care of him like this; it was just like watching over the sparkling again. And yet she'd also begun to realize that Optimus was very good at taking ridiculous and unnecessary risks. She'd probably be spending a lot of time caring for the mech when he was injured in the future…

She stayed near until he drifted into recharge, stroking his helm and murmuring soft words of love into his audios as he fell into blissful unconsciousness.

"Now then," Elita sighed, getting to her feet and striding to the gawking mechs' berths. "You two aren't going to mention that to anyone, are you?"

"Course not," Rodimus said instantaneously, grinning.

"Us, spread a hot, juicy little rumor like that? Wouldn't dream of it," Springer quipped, but fell silent when Elita leveled an icy glare in his direction.

"You are _not_ going to spread any rumors involving Optimus and me," she growled quietly, "and you are _not_ going to provoke him while he is recovering. If you fail to comply with either of said limitations, I am going to _personally_ make your lives a living Pit. Are we clear?"

Both mechs nodded solemnly, stricken with fear at the very thought of the horrors the femme commander could think to inflict upon them. Elita nodded briskly, and with a last glance at Optimus, departed from the medical bay swiftly.

There was so much to check up on. She needed to find Prowl and get a casualty estimate, and arrange for Optimus to get time to recover…she'd have to find Blazer and thank the little femme for her help as well, and of course she had to make sure the sparkling frame was still intact…perhaps she could download the memories on its processor into Optimus'…?

She yelped in pain and surprise when she turned a corner and ran into something large and very, _very_ solid. A few more passing astroseconds found her sitting on her aft on the floor, holding her noseplates and struggling to keep her optics from watering. Primus, when all of this was over, she was going to go into Optimus's quarters and have a nice cry…

Looking up to see what--or whom--she had run into, she felt her spark stop.

"…Oh," Megatron said awkwardly, staring down at her, his expression bewildered. "I…you…you just came from nowhere…ah…let me…"

He extended a hand, and after a strained moment she placed her own within its cool confines. He pulled her to her feet seemingly effortlessly, avoiding her gaze by staring determinedly at his own feet.

"Welcome back," he mumbled.

"You too," she replied in a near whisper, otherwise lost for words. She removed her hand from her face, twitching her noseplates to bring the feeling back. Convinced he was looking anywhere but at her, she sneaked her optics upwards to gaze up at him.

Megatron was every bit as impressive as she remembered. Still huge and silver and very intimidating, and…maybe just a little less handsome than he had been when they were together. She thought at first that it was because she had become so accustomed to Optimus's beautiful face, but something nagged at her in the back of her processor. Megatron really did seem _changed_…

A few second passed before she realized that he was looking at her now, too, and she took a few hasty steps backwards, lowering her gaze once more.

"S-Sorry," she stammered out. Why did she suddenly feel so out of breath? "Sorry, I got lost in thought…"

"…Is Optimus…?"

Biting her lower lip, Elita looked up again. There was real concern on Megatron's faceplates, but she found that she could no longer read his optics. The realization made her a little sad.

"He ought to be fine," she assured her once-sparkmate softly, clasping her hands in front of her. It was strange, the effect the twins had on her. With Optimus, she felt so strong, completely invincible; but here, standing before Megatron, she felt immeasurably small and feminine. Not for the first time lately, she suddenly wished her strong soldier were standing at her side.

"I heard news of a…change," Megatron stated slowly, and she winced. Damn.

"You heard about that, did you? Well, he did change--a lot--but we got it all worked out, it's fine now."

"…I see." Megaton fell silent, but his gaze lingered on her. Seeing her there before him again, he could feel a rising tide of lust within him. It pained him to remember that not so long ago she had been in his brother's bed, moaning Optimus's name in the dark, delicate hands clutching at him and her panting mouth kissing him fervently…

"Megatron?"

He was snapped out of his reverie by her soft call, and his gaze was directed behind him, to the small mech at which she was staring.

"Oh, forgive me, I've forgotten the introductions," he said smoothly, wiping from his processor the images that had plagued it so frequently as of late. "This is Aero. I found him while I was…away. He has been orphaned, and I've grown rather fond of him. Aero, this is Elita One."

Elita's first impression was that the little mech despised her.

For just a moment--for one fleeting moment--the look on his face was one of such hate, such loathing, that it made her spark go cold. But the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and he was stammering out a nervous hello, hovering somewhere between a bow and a salute.

"Welcome to base, Aero," she said warmly, remembering at the last moment to speak as a commander and not as a mother or lover; the past few joors had been so emotional that she'd rather forgotten that she was still the commander of the femme division. Again, it was Optimus' profound ability to make her forget everything in the universe but him…

Forcing herself to come back to the present, she observed the mech before her carefully. Aero was a tiny thing, smaller than Elita--more Arcee's size. His armor was blue, the beautiful blue that Elita had seen coloring the skies of some organic planets. The gaps and adornments were silver, the same shade and luster as Megatron's. And yet…cocking her head, Elita could not help but feel that there was something a little _off_ about the mech. Something in the way he held himself, fidgeted, something in his downcast optics and demure expression…there was something _submissive_ about his aura…

"Is there…could I possibly see Optimus?" Megatron asked quietly, and Elita's attention was abruptly brought back to him.

"Huh? Oh, I…I don't think Ratchet wants any visitors right now, they still have a lot of soldiers in critical condition, and Optimus is recharging right now, actually…he hasn't recovered fully, you see, and…but Red Alert says he can go rest in his own quarters once Ratchet sees to him, so…"

"Of course," Megatron said, nodding slightly. "I understand. Will you please call me when Optimus is awake and back in his own quarters?"

Elita bobbed her head up and down. "Yes, of course I will. And, I…I would like to speak with you, as well. To catch up. You…you had us all quite worried."

His optics dimmed slightly, and for the first time in a long time Elita saw a true smile flicker over his faceplates. "I'm sure I did. I apologize. But we will talk later, yes? I'm sure you have many duties to attend to…Primus, so do I, I've been gone far too long. Come, Aero, we take our leave…"

Aero tossed Elita a nervous wave before turning and trotting off after Megatron. Elita watched them go, wondering if it was too soon to be relieved. Perhaps Megatron had given up his pursuit? Had he accepted the fact that she was with Optimus now?

Shaking her head, Elita turned on her heel and made to head off--and ran smack into someone else. This time they both crashed to the floor, whimpering; the other bot clutching his or her helm while Elita once again covered her poor noseplates.

"Ow…oh, frag, I'm sorry, I wasn't watching where I--are you leaking?"

"I'm good," Elita replied, waving the other bot's concern off. Blinking back tears, she lifted her head to find that this time she'd collided with a femme. A very young and pretty one, at that. She, like Aero, was blue, but after a moment of closer inspection Elita found that she couldn't decide if it was white or blue. It was the bluest blue she'd ever seen, and yet so white it startled her…

"Have you got cadmium alloys infused in your armor?" Elita asked suddenly as the realization struck her. The little femme blinked once, and then burst into laughter.

"You're smart! You're the first one to ever figure that out! Yup, it's cadmium," she beamed, casting her armor an appreciative glance before returning her attention to Elita. "Did you study at a private academy or what?"

"My father was a scientist," Elita replied, smiling slightly. The femme had already struck her as quite likeable. The charisma was strangely familiar… "It really is stunning. Who manufactured it?"

"Mech named Alpha Trion," the femme said brightly, and Elita almost heaved her waste tanks.

* * *

**Cybertron--deep underground…**

**Energon mine 243**

"It's about time you got back."

Nemesis Prime lowered his optics and proceeded onwards, paying the owner of the cold voice no heed. Sideways cocked his head to the side, his red optics narrowing. He cleared his throat pointedly, and Nemesis halted.

"Maybe you didn't catch my drift, but I was inquiring as to why you're late," Sideways said coldly, and Nemesis could practically feel the other mech's optics burning a hole in his back.

"The rebel base was in chaos," Nemesis replied softly, restraining the urge to turn and blow the arrogant mech into next eon. "It was difficult to reach her."

"Hmph," Sideways snorted, turning his chair back around to face the monitor before him. "If she was injured, you should have just left her."

Nemesis took a deep, calming breath, tightening his arms around the femme huddled against his frame. "Negative. That would not have been practical. It would be difficult for Lord Unicron to make another like her."

"Not really," Sideways sniffed, grinning behind his striated faceguard. "Alpha Trion has gone into hiding again, you know? I'm sure he's been experimenting a lot to pass the time until his arrest warrant clocks out. There's probably plenty of unstable sparks that he's extracting matter from…"

The gargantuan black mech across the room turned, his interest piqued. "Extracting…matter? I thought he produced sparks artificially."

Sideways snorted, shaking his head sympathetically. "Poor, poor drone. Must be hard to be so stupid. No, you fool, it's not possible to synthetically produce a spark. Of course, it was a good cover-up for the kidnapping of a young femme from her parents, and it makes him look pretty good, doesn't it? Able to create life using science…it's a bunch of bull slag, but of course Cybertron eats it up. I just wonder if he'll ever come clean," he sniggered, his grin broadening. "How would you like to be Prime or that little femme of his? To be told the truth after all this time…"

"…And what is the truth?"

"I don't know all the details, that's just what I've come up with in my research," Sideways said dismissively. "I shouldn't have bothered even telling you. By the way, did you see that idiot Thrust?"

Nemesis narrowed his optics, wracking his memory banks. "I did not see him during the battle. I believe Prime prefers his own tactician over Megatron's."

"If you could call Thrust a tactician," Sideways muttered, more to himself than to Nemesis. He glanced over his shoulder to glance at his puppets, and his faceplates curled into a look of disgust. "Ugh. Get that femme out of here, she's leaking all over the floor."

Nemesis nodded his head once before exiting the wide room, taking off down one of the side tunnels and into the tiny enclosure where he and his mate stayed. It was even more sparsely decorated than Optimus Prime's quarters. The berth was composed of a pile of thermal blankets that had long since used up their thermal cells and were now just pieces of cloth. The only decorations on the walls were the little games the couple occasionally played, scratching numbers or words into the old metal with their fingers. Nemesis had dug out a small cache where they'd begun storing energon cubes, so they didn't have to raid outposts every night for sustenance.

The black mech lowered his femme gently onto the pile of blankets, stroking her face when she whimpered in pain. His optics ran over her destroyed body, trying to assess the damage and decide how best to treat her. The energon was barely leaking now; he had to seal up her main lines and then start her on an energon drip…

He set to work, using a tiny torch and welder to remove debris and seal her wiring. Blackarachnia's hand flitted vaguely over his helm as he worked, caressing his audios or antennae every now and again.

"Who is Unicron trying to bring back?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Thunderwing? The Fallen? Both?"

"We have no way of knowing," Nemesis murmured, examining his job on her lines before carefully inserting an drip tube into a lateral line. He did the same to his own, and watched expectantly as his energon began to flow into her body with each thump of his pump.

"Why does he need us?"

"Because he needs Prime and Elita out of the way, I would suspect," he mused, stroking her face absently.

"Why not Megatron?"

Nemesis's optics darkened, and he frowned behind his mask. "There is already darkness in Megatron's spark. He will come over to our side without our persuasion. With Alpha Trion's help, it seems."

Blackarachnia leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. "So that's it," she murmured, optics scanning a dark corner. "We're just his pawns. All just his pawns. So many mechs and gods with selfish endeavors. We're caught up with Sideways, you and I; Optimus and Elita are caught up with Alpha Trion. None of us can escape."

"But why is Unicron going to such trouble?" Nemesis wondered aloud. "Optimus and Elita are just two mechanisms. Why would he go through the trouble of bringing solid envoys to Cybertron to exterminate them? How much can they honestly do?"

"Perhaps it will not just be them," Blackarachnia suggested, thinking hard. "If Alpha Trion has told Prime of the Corespark, or if Nova Prime is indeed still alive, then…"

"They could bring back the Ancients," Nemesis finished, the realization hitting him like a punch to the face. "The former Primes and the deceased portion of the original Thirteen…they could be brought back!"

"But they would not have to be brought back if Unicron were not attacking in the first place," Nia pointed out, sitting up with some difficulty. "So why is he choosing to engage at all? Why not remain dormant and go quietly on his way?"

They sat still for a time, staring into one another's optics, speechless with the weight of their discoveries. After a while Nemesis eased his beloved back onto the thermal blankets, removing the tube from their energon lines as he became dizzy. And as they sat in silence, holding one another's hands, only one thought ran through their processors:

_Why?_

* * *

"…_Why_?!" Jetfire groaned in frustration, slamming a fist down on the table. "Why, why?! _Why_ can't I find an antivirus for this thing?!"

"Take it easy, Jetfire," Hotshot said gently, stepping forward to place a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You'll get it."

"But what if I _don't_? What if Ironhide dies? Worse, what if _others _get infected with this thing?"

"You're talking crazy," Hotshot cut in, shaking his head. "You're the best we've got, Jetfire, you'll figure this out--"

"Dammit, Hotshot, just shut up, okay?! I don't need your self-righteous optimism right now!"

The room went silent. Jetfire dropped his face into his hands, exhaling shakily; Hotshot stuck his glossa into his cheek and said nothing.

"…Sorry," Jetfire mumbled after a breem. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"S'okay," Hotshot complied, shrugging. "This has been hard on all of us."

Jetfire sighed, lifting his head and sagging in his chair. "Man, I hate this! I wish there was something more I could do…"

"We all do, bro," Hotshot said sympathetically, bobbing his head up and down. "We all do."

The white mech sat back, rubbing his foreplate, optics trained on the floor. "Think Thrust has been acting a little weird lately?"

Hotshot cocked a grin. "Weirder than usual, ya mean?"

Jetfire barked out a tired laugh, shuttering his optics. "Yeah, yeah, smart aft. I just…" His shutters lifted again, revealing clouded golden optics. "After…after they got Scavenger…"

Hotshot bowed his head, a wave of grief clutching his spark, but he said nothing.

"After they got Scavenger, I just thought 'Here we go. It's all over now,'" Jetfire said quietly. "I just _knew_ that they were just gonna start picking us off, one at a time. Things were okay for a while, and I started to relax, but…you know, Ironhide and Optimus…_twice_, nonetheless."

"Aw, bro…" Hotshot trailed off, lost for words.

"I just never thought it'd be _Scavenger_," Jetfire said, then laughed bitterly. "I mean, come _on_. That old mech who never seemed ruffled by anything? Fell asleep during all our lessons? Always barking orders at the commander? I didn't think _anything_ would ever take him down. I looked up to the mech. And…I mean…we didn't even have a body to mourn over, ya know?"

Hotshot nodded. He felt the same way, but this was Jetfire's time to unload. There wasn't much that got the chipper shuttle down; he must have been holding all of this in for a very long time.

A few breems of silence passed. Hotshot stared at the wall, and Jetfire doodled on his armor with a stylus he'd found on the ground.

"Aw, well," Jetfire sighed at last, sitting up and waking up his monitor. "What's done is done. Optimus is always telling us not to dwell on the past, yeah? Time to move on."

Hotshot nodded after a moment. "Yup. Can't go disobeying orders now of all times. I'll see you around, Jetfire, I've got work to do."

"Yeah. See ya."

Hotshot turned to go, but no sooner had he made it to the door than Jetfire spoke up again.

"Hotshot."

"Yeah?" the yellow captain turned, one hand on the door release, only to be slammed into by several tons of suddenly ecstatic white shuttle.

"_**VICTORY IS MINE!**_" Jetfire roared, then hooked an arm around Hotshot's neck and took off down the hall.

* * *

It was dark. Sideswipe hated it when it was dark while he was on patrol. It just creeped him out. Especially on nights like this, right after a battle, when the air was cold and even the stars seemed to be blotted out by the sheer depth of the darkness…on nights when he could hear the energon being pumped past his audios, when he could feel his own harsh breath rushing in and out of his intakes…

"_Gotcha!_"

Sideswipe jumped and spun around, weapon drawn, and Sunstreaker leapt backwards. "Whoa, whoa! Bro, it's me! Don't hurt the paint job, please!"

"Frag off, Sunny!" Sideswipe yelled, shaking badly. "You scared the slag out of me! You know I get freaked out on patrol, don't take advantage of it, you slag-tard!"

"Sorry, sorry, the opportunity was just too perfect," Sunstreaker sniggered, still keeping one optic on his brother's trembling trigger hand.

"Both of you, shut up," Prowl groaned, gazing skyward and wondering who the frag had saddled him with the twins for patrol duty. "We've almost circled the whole perimeter, we're just a few breems from getting back home. So quit goofing off and--" He broke off suddenly, his ultra-sensitive audios alerted to a noise nearby.

"Oh, you frag off too, Prowl," Sideswipe whined, subspacing his gun. "We were just--"

"_Don't put that away!_" Prowl hissed. "And shut up!"

"Geez, what's up with you?" Sunstreaker demanded. "We can't say two words without you jumping down our tailpipes, and to be perfectly honest I'm really--"

"_Shut the frag up_!" Prowl positively snarled, one hand closing of Sunstreaker's mouthplates. "I heard something, we're not alone! We're being tailed!"

The twins' optics widened, but Prowl ignored them, optics narrowed and frantically searching the dark perimeter. He couldn't see a thing…

All three whirled around at a skittering sound behind them. Three pairs of optics strained in the dark, searching, searching, until--

Red light burst from the fourth pair of optics, and Prowl had the wild notion that Elita One had attacked him moments before everything went dark once more.

* * *

"For the thousandth time, I agree that you're the greatest thing Primus ever thought up, but seriously, what's going on?" Hotshot demanded, ruffled and irritated at his rough treatment, but Jetfire paid him no heed. The shuttle was beside himself, practically skipping down the hall towards the medical bay.

"I'm just a genius, that's all," Jetfire sang, picking up his pace a bit. "Oh, Primus, I'm amazing! I am the greatest! Optimus will probably erect a monument in my honor!"

"Primus must have been drunk off his aft when he created you," Hotshot muttered, but his complaint was unheard over Jetfire's one-mech celebration.

"Yo, Ratchet!" Jetfire roared, nearly kicking the med bay doors down and finally releasing Hotshot in order to open them properly. "Guess what?"

"Jetfire, I don't have time," the medic growled, frantically searching through a cabinet for some undisclosed item. Hotshot took a moment to recon the med bay; through an open ward door he could make out three occupied berths, but he couldn't tell who the occupants were. A door was ajar further down the hall, and he could vaguely hear Elita and Optimus's soft voices.

"Trust me, doc bot, you'll wanna hear this," Jetfire said, still proud but a little put off by Ratchet's thoughtless dismissal.

"Then spit it out fast, but don't expect me to listen," Ratchet snapped angrily. "Dammit, Red Alert, where are my--"

"Well, listen good, because I just found out how to cure Ironhide!" Jetfire announced, puffing his chest out and grinning like a mad mech. "What do you say to that?"

Ratchet froze, then looked up slowly, expression shocked. Then his faceplates twisted back into one of absolute frustration and sorrow.

"I say good," he said softly. "Because whatever got Ironhide just nabbed Prowl and the twins."

* * *

**So it was another filler chapter to set up the next part of the story. I didn't want to make story arcs for this fic because nearly everything that happens is tied into everything else; I feel like I'm spinning myself a web. :3**

**Oh, Scavenger, Sideways, Hotshot, Jetfire, and Thrust are all from Armada/ Energon. I don't think you need to have actually seen the series to understand (**_**optimus prime 007**_** has recently been Armada-fied :D) but it makes for some good background info. **

**I just got Energon on DVD (forty bucks well spent and hard earned) so I'm all pumped up now. I'll have to spit out some more JetfireXOptimus to accompany ****Claimed****, so get ready for freakish amounts of Plenoptic updating at some point or another XD**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

_Plenoptic_

**Yay :D And what is up with you reviewers? I'm going to throw all of you X| Two reviews! Maybe three! I know it was a boring chapter, but geez XD**

**Anyway, tried to make this one more enjoyable :D Enjoy!**

* * *

"He's dead. Prime."

Shortstop swallowed, nodding once as he tended to his leader's injuries. Bloodlust gave a hiss of disgruntlement, shoving the poor mech away.

"Get off. Where's our medic?"

"Dead, sir," Shortstop said in a tiny voice, keeping his optics trained on the ground.

"His assistant?"

"Dead as well, sir."

Bloodlust sat still for a moment, hideous faceplates twisted in thought. He needed someone to reconstruct the half of his body that he'd lost.

"Finder," he barked out, and a gargantuan mech in the corner lifted his head a tad.

"Sir?" Finder drawled casually, stretching his legs and locking his fingers behind his head. He was an impressive specimen of a mech. He was a mercenary, thick and broad with muscle cables, armor, and a various assortment of weapons.

"Have you any medical knowledge?"

Finder arched one optic ridge, a hint of boredom gracing his rugged faceplates. "I can stop noseplates from leaking."

Bloodlust issued a low growl. Had Finder been one of his soldiers, he would've been killed on the spot for such insolence. But Finder was a mech-for-hire, and a very useful one at that. He was a brilliant tactician and a huge asset on the battlefield, and Bloodlust couldn't afford to lose any more troops.

"Then find me someone who can rebuild me," Bloodlust ordered, red optics narrowing. "And find them quickly!"

Finder gave a deft nod before hauling himself to his feet. "One question?"

"Yes?"

"Who did it to you?" Finder inquired, but he had a feeling he already knew.

Bloodlust growled. "Optimus Prime. But never fear, Finder--he was disposed of."

For a moment, the mercenary's faceplates donned an expression of shock, but the look was gone so fast that Bloodlust was sure he had imagined it. Bland and uninterested once more, Finder bowed his head once and departed the bunker, setting off into the hot terrain.

He made sure he was a good distance from the bunker before stopping, struggling to keep his spark in check. The grief suddenly welled up over him, and he promptly emptied his waste tanks onto the battlefield.

"Can't be," he choked out, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Can't be…it _can't_ be…"

Not Optimus.

Bloodlust killed other mechs. He killed lots of mechs. But not mechs like Optimus. Not mechs that Finder had attachments to. Not mechs that had once been sparklings, clutching Finder's armor as they tried to climb to their feet.

Finder clapped a hand over his optics, a dry sob rising in his vocalizer. Dimly, he wondered how many other old friends and comrades had fallen victim to Bloodlust's reign of war. Surely not Jetfire. Nothing could kill Jetfire. Then again, Finder hadn't even imagined that anything could kill Optimus…

He rubbed at his optics, trying to get his helm back on straight. Bloodlust wanted an armor manufacturer? Oh, he'd get one…Finder ran through his list of contacts, frowning slightly. Primus, what he needed was a genius. The best method to off Bloodlust now would be to pay someone to rig his wiring when he was repaired, but the only bot Finder could think of with that kind of expertise was Wheeljack.

Finder considered for a moment, but then shook his head. No, Wheeljack was out of the question. As far as Optimus's troops were concerned, the mech Finder had once been was dead. Long since dead. It had been necessary to have them think that. Optimus had given "Finder" a mission, a very important one, and even if Prime was gone, Finder wouldn't fail.

Not now.

* * *

"There we go," Ratchet sighed in relief, easing Optimus gently onto the spacious recharge berth. "Home sweet home, eh?"

"Thank you, Ratchet," Optimus rumbled softly, casting a glance around his quarters. A warm sense of contentment began to creep into him; home indeed. He pushed the peace away for the time being, as there were more important matters to attend to. "How is Ironhide?"

"Fine, fine," Ratchet said lightly. "Jetfire thinks he may have discovered something of an antivirus." The medic tactfully left out the fact that Prowl and the twins had been attacked as well; there was no need to worry Optimus with a cure so very near. "They--he'll be up on his feet in no time, don't you fret."

Prime relaxed visibly, a smile creeping across his faceplates. Bloodlust had been stopped, Ironhide was going to be alright, and they were all home again…

"Rest up, Optimus," Ratchet murmured, rubbing the young mech's helm gently. "Your orders are to recover so you can get back to bossing us around again."

He waited a moment before turning to Elita, faceplates once more drawn tight with tension.

"I'll leave him to you, then," he sighed tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his noseplates. "And he needs _rest,_ you hear? The more recharge he gets, the faster his body will repair itself. I've just got too much on my hands right now…"

"Of course," Elita said gently, patting his shoulder. "How are Prowl and the twins, anyway?"

"Heard about that already, did you? Well, if this miracle Jetfire procured works, hopefully they'll be up and about in no time," Ratchet said tiredly. "That mech is a self-absorbed moron, but he's also something of a genius. And right now he's alone with Red Alert, Wheeljack, and my patients, so I'll be going. Call me if anything comes up."

"Alright. Thank you, Ratch."

The medic patted her cheekplate before turning and hurrying out the door, barking at a few wandering recruits to get out of his way. Elita released a long sigh, rubbing the sides of helm. Priorities. Priorities. Well, she needed to get Optimus comfortable, and then she ought to dispatch someone to confirm that Bloodlust was really gone.

"Lita," Optimus called weakly, and she turned on her heel and made her way to his side. The mech was stirring uncomfortably, still splayed out exactly where Ratchet had dumped him. Elita shushed him softly, pulling up the thermal blankets from the foot of the berth and adjusting the cushions so that Optimus was in a more reclined position.

"Ah," he gasped feebly, flinching when her hand brushed his abdomen. "Oh…"

"I know it hurts," she whispered, taking his handsome face into her hands. "It won't for long, Optimus."

He lifted his optics to meet hers and they both stilled suddenly, staring at one another in the dark. Neither could move, breathe, even think, with their other half so shockingly close. The reaction came suddenly and without warning. Elita could feel--_feel­--_the intimate pull of Optimus's spark upon her own. The connection was nearly overwhelming; it hadn't ever, _ever_ been this strong with Megatron, and she and Optimus weren't even bonded yet…

"I held your spark," she whispered, breaking the rapture-filled silence between them. "In my hands. Without a shield. And it didn't go out."

"It's because I trust you," he replied softly, tentative fingertips touching her cheekplate. "It's because I was created for you. It's because I _live_ for you."

She shuttered her optics and pressed her foreplate to his, covering his massive hand with her own as he cradled her face. The other she placed gently over his chest plating, directly on top of his precious spark.

The knock upon the door was like thunder to their audios. Optimus jumped and Elita let out a yelp when he nearly flung her off the berth.

"Sorry," he said hurriedly, his hands catching her quickly and steadying her. "Sorry, my bad…didn't mean to…"

"Of course you didn't," she acquiesced hurriedly. "I'll go, um, check the door…"

Optimus nodded and sank back down against the cushions as she left the room. He distinctly heard the door swoosh open, and waited expectantly for the conversation that was sure to follow, but it never did. Instead, the door closed again, and Optimus lifted his head when Elita came back in.

"It's Megatron," she said before he could even think to inquire about his visitor. "Do you want to see him?"

Optimus blinked, optics wide over the rim of his mask. Elita trotted back to his bedside, sitting down on the berth and removing the mask with gentle hands. She kissed him softly, hands adjusting the thermal blankets around his frame.

"I know it's hard," she murmured, drawing back to peer carefully into his optics. "But your only duty right now is to your brother, understand? Bloodlust is as good as gone and Jetfire's found a cure, so you can look after yourself now."

Prime lowered his gaze, biting his lower lip. "I hurt Megatron. He cared about you more than anything in the universe, and I--"

"_We_," she corrected, tapping his noseplates. "We did this, Optimus. I want to fix it. But I can't do it without you. And Megatron's been worried about you, I don't think he harbors any ill will toward either of us."

Optimus thought for a moment before releasing a resigned sigh. "You're right. Of course you're right. Will you let him in?"

A bubble of pride welled up within her; her soldier was so incredibly brave. She kissed him once more before getting to her feet and going back to the door. It slid back at her typed command to reveal Megatron still hovering awkwardly in the hall.

"Sorry about that," Elita said lightly, stepping back. "Optimus wants to see you."

Megatron expelled a hesitant breath from his intakes before stepping into his brother's familiar quarters. A thin layer of dust had settled over the sparse furniture, a tribute to just how long Optimus had been away from home. Elita had just begun to close the door when another bot suddenly flung out a hand from the hall and caught it.

"Whoa! What the--"

"Hey, hey, wait a second!" Eclipse panted, wriggling to get in through the door. "Me too, Megatron!"

Elita glanced up at Megatron, optic ridges arched, and he shrugged helplessly. "She's our sister," he said somewhat apologetically.

"You're that femme I plowed into in the hall," Eclipse said cheerfully, turning and holding out a hand to Elita. "I'm Eclipse. I manage the non-combatant bots and Neutral soldiers in Haven."

"Uh…it's nice to--but--I thought--" Elita blinked as she shook the younger femme's hand, struggling to gather her thoughts into something that resembled a coherent sentence. "I thought you were dead," she said lamely, and Eclipse giggled.

"I'll tell you all about that later," she said, spinning on her heel and taking Megatron's hand. "I wanna see my big brother."

"Hold on a second, Eclipse," he said gently, holding her back. "Maybe you should let me go in first. Optimus is hurt, we don't want to upset him."

Eclipse stilled, faceplates sliding into a frown. "Oh. That's true. I'll just wait here until he's ready, then."

Megatron smiled and stroked her helm before tossing a glance at Elita. She nodded reassuringly, and he inhaled deeply before entering his brother's room.

* * *

"What is this all about, Ratchet?" Barricade demanded sleepily as he tromped into the conference room. "We just got back from the mission, some of us were trying to recharge."

"This is just a quick conference, 'Cade, it's pretty much in the bag already," Ratchet said briskly, distributing data pads at each seat. "Jetfire thinks he's found a cure for whatever virus has a hold on Ironhide, Prowl and the twins, and he just needs our approval to start administering."

Barricade groaned and dropped into a chair, rubbing his foreplate. "So who all is coming?"

"First Aid and Red Alert will be here momentarily, as will Thrust, Starscream, and Perceptor," Ratchet listed off, ticking names off on his fingers. "We just needed creative minds like yours to give this the okay, or the High Council would be down our throats in a nanosecond, especially since this is a foreign virus."

"Got it," Barricade grunted, dropping his head onto the table as the other five bots trooped into the room. Jazz, though his presence was unnecessary, followed them in. Ratchet considered shooing him out, but seeing as Prowl was one of the virus's victims, he found he just didn't have the spark. Instead, he clapped the little saboteur on the shoulder as he passed, and Jazz shot him a grateful expression as he lowered himself into his seat.

"So where's Jetfire?" Starscream demanded, cracking his neck joints. "Let's get this over with so we can deliver the antiviruses!"

"He's collecting the last of his data from the lab, he'll be here in a breem," Ratchet said, making to close the door, but someone thrust a foot in from the other side.

"Hold up there, doc," Chromia growled, shouldering her way in. Much to Ratchet's surprise, Bluestreak and Arcee tumbled in after her. "I'd like to know exactly what it is that Jetfire's going to be shooting into my mech."

Ratchet rolled his optics. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, Chromia, Jetfire knows what he's doing. Mostly."

"Red said there are sometimes complications with unknown viruses," Chromia said flatly, placing her hands on her hips and facing the medic. "I've got a right to know about this."

Ratchet shot his assistant a poisonous look before jerking his head towards Chromia's company. "So what about the runts?"

Bluestreak straightened, puffing out his chest importantly. "Prowl is my mentor, sir," he said solemnly. "I'd like to know what's going on, too."

Arcee tucked her hands behind her back, lowering her optics. "I owe it to Ironhide and Chromia," she said shyly. "I at least want to know what everyone else is doing to help."

Ratchet relented, allowing his shoulders to relax. They were dealing with the possible loss of loved ones; he had to compassionate. "Alright, pull up a seat," he said gruffly, gesturing to the table. "Jetfire will be here soon."

"Well, if he's going to take a bit, then I'm going to grab some energon," Thrust said stiffly, standing up and pushing past Ratchet to head out the door.

Had Ratchet been less focused on the situation at hand, he may have taken a moment to wonder why Thrust was already muttering into his comm link.

* * *

Ratchet wasn't the only preoccupied one. Jetfire was leaning intently over his computer terminal, humming to himself as he dragged his findings and conclusions into a file that could be uploaded to his waiting data pad. Perhaps he'd been a little preemptive in calling for the conference--this could take well over a breem. But the thought of actually finding a successful cure spurred him to act irrationally, and really he didn't regret it. He'd rather have them all waiting than have to run around base trying to organize the damn meeting himself.

A giddy little bubble welled up within him, and Jetfire couldn't suppress a grin. They had a cure, just like that. Geez, he'd been way too stressed lately. After this was said and done, maybe he'd try and convince Hotshot and Optimus to go to Crystal City with him. It had been far too long since the trio had done anything fun…

Jetfire suddenly tensed and spun around, fingers itching for the gun holster at his hip. Now why had he gone and done that? He lowered his shoulders and dropped from the combat stance, scratching the back of his helm.

"Primus, I must be losin' it," he muttered, turning back to the computer terminal. "Come on, Jetfire, relax…"

A half breem or so passed quietly, but the sensation of being watched nagged at the back of Jetfire's mind. He tossed a nonchalant glance over his shoulder. The blast doors were still sealed tight, no sign of being forced open. That was the only way into the lab. Obviously no one had blown a wall in, Jetfire _definitely_ would have heard that…

Jetfire turned back to his computer and chuckled, folding his arms over his chest. Primus, what a nut. He was just being paranoid because Prowl and the twins had been attacked. Jetfire rolled his optics skyward, mocking his own jittery antics--and his spark froze in its chamber.

A panel in the ceiling was missing.

Now, Jetfire was known far and wide to be a bit of a slacker. Most bots saw him as carefree, reckless, self-assured, and optimistic to the point of stupidity. And they were right. But beneath his lax exterior was a soldier, and Primus-slagged good one at that.

He lowered his head, optics trained on the computer screen again, looking more through it than at it. He absently began the file transfer into the data pad, trying to look preoccupied and unsuspecting. Someone--or some_thing_--was in the lab, and they didn't have friendly intentions. Whatever it was knew the base well, otherwise it wouldn't have known that there was a hole in the air ducts right above the lab. Jetfire himself only knew because he'd once accidentally set his gun off and blown off the ceiling panels.

Jetfire shuttered his optics, processor churning through his options. This thing was waiting for him to either open the blast doors or drop his guard. He knew enough about assassins to decide that he didn't have much time; this thing wasn't going to give him the chance to make an offensive move.

The obvious solution would be to call for help, but he nixed the idea. The assassin would strike the second it realized his comm link was on, and then off anyone who came to his aid. He was on his own this time. Of course, there was a conference room full of mechs waiting for him on the floor directly below…maybe one of them would take note of his prolonged absence and--

Something moved. Jetfire felt it as a subtle stir of the air, a tingle up his back, and he spun, one hand whipping his gun from its holster. Something darted into a corner, but no sooner had he turned on it than he detected movement straight up the wall. Whatever this thing was, it was _fast_.

Blackarachnia, meanwhile, was feeling disgruntled. The white shuttle was big, easily Optimus Prime's equal in size, so he'd take an extra dose of her venom to go down, and worse yet, he'd _sensed_ her. This was going to be harder than the last three…

She cocked her head, trying to get a better view of her opponent. Which wasn't so easy when she was upside down. But she couldn't risk getting down from the ceiling, she had to stay out of his striking range.

The mech…he favored his left leg slightly. An old wound inflicted to the right, perhaps? She watched his wings, observing the way they twitched and tilted, tasting the room's stale atmosphere. The right was a little slow. The mech had been injured previously, and it had done damage to his starboard motor functions. If she was lucky, maybe his right audio and optic had been retarded, as well…

Blackarachnia crept around the mech, watching his every movement. He was oddly calm for someone alone in a room with a killer, but she could read the stress in his optics. He was afraid.

Good.

She lunged with such perfect precision and speed that it would have startled even the sharpshooters under Ironhide's command. She attacked, and suddenly there was nothing in the universe but her and her prey. She saw everything with such clarity in the nanoseconds before she struck: she saw every gap in his armor, the lateral lines in his throat, the exposed crack in his helm.

Blackarachnia struck. Sharp needles and pincers pierced Jetfire's fuel lines and withdrew within the same astrosecond. One clawed hand latched onto his helm, fingers digging into the crack in his head armor. She detached herself quickly as the mech fell, observing him carefully.

His optics flickered on and offline unevenly, soft gasps rising up from his vocalizer as her venom took hold. A shudder passed through him, and he coughed violently. A trickle of energon seeped from the rim of his mask.

Blackarachnia smiled as she bent and pulled the faceguard away. Jetfire recoiled when one finger traced over his lips, and he hacked again, spitting up energon. His systems were backing up.

"Such a pretty face," Blackarachnia cooed, kissing his cheek softly. "It's almost a shame. But we can't have you distributing an antivirus, now can we?"

Jetfire dropped his head to the ground, shuttering his optics with a groan. He could feel the paralysis creeping up through his legs. Primus, now what? He opened his comm link but his vocalizer was locked; he couldn't manage more than a moan and a whimper.

"I'm sorry," Blackarachnia murmured, stroking his face absently. "I know it hurts. It won't for long. Without the antivirus you're as good as dead. I wish I could at least have learned your name. Such a handsome mech ought to be remembered. I'll ask Optimus when I visit him later."

Jetfire's optics flashed, and he released a strained growl. He pressed a hand against the ground, struggling to stand, but was stilled by the rush of pain that lanced up his back. _Optimus…_

Blackarachnia sighed and got to her feet, striding around to the back of the computer and removing the rear panel. Jetfire's spark clenched in horror when she removed the mother board and deftly snapped in half. His data. His cure. Gone, just like that.

Whatever optimism or hope he'd been clinging to moments ago drained away. He couldn't think straight. The pain was all consuming, clouding his vision and scattering his thoughts. He could feel the loose energon pooling in his throat, but the paralysis had sunk so deep that he couldn't even summon the strength to cough. Lights danced before his optics, his audio reception began to fade in and out like a bad comm signal…

Blackarachnia glanced back at her victim. Energon had begun to seep from the gaps of his armor, and she could see the seizure waiting to pounce upon his weakened form. She glanced at the chronometer on the wall. Even if they found him now, it was probably too late…she giggled and stooped to kiss his cheek once more.

"See you in Pit, fly boy," she cooed softly. "It's been fun."

Jetfire could only watch as she scaled the wall with practiced expertise and slid through the hole in the ceiling. Gone, just like that. Straining with the effort, he managed to lift his head enough to scan the top of his desk. He dropped his head back to the floor and shuttered his optics, summoning the results of his scan to the forefront of his processor. A tingle ran up his back, and his body fell into spasms, threatening to give into the seizure.

Oh…the scan. His data pad containing all of his work was still sitting on the desk, untouched.

"Ha," he choked out weakly, and then the darkness took him.

* * *

"What is _taking_ him?" Starscream groaned, propping his legs up on the conference table. Barricade scowled at his conduct but said nothing. "Even Jetfire is never this unprepared for a conference."

"Bluestreak, go up to the lab and tell him to get his aft down here, would you?" Ratchet sighed, rubbing his foreplate, and the little mech jumped out of his chair and hurried out the door without a word of protest.

"How's Optimus doing?" Chromia asked nonchalantly, swiping an energon cube from Thrust. He began to protest, but she glared at him. "Oh, shut up. I've been in the med bay with Ironhide, I'm starving. Ratchet?"

"Optimus is fine, he's resting in his quarters," Ratchet said absently, rubbing his chin. "Elita's tending to him. He'll be back to a hundred percent within the orn, provided he doesn't do anything too strenuous."

"Maybe you shouldn't have left him with Elita, then," Chromia said, waggling her optic ridges, and Ratchet smirked.

"I specifically told her that he needs to recharge, and if he engages her in such activities then it's his own damn--" Ratchet cut off abruptly, interrupted by Bluestreak screaming into his comm link. "Bluestreak, what the frag is it?"

"Just get a medic up here, now!" Bluestreak said frantically. "_Now!_ He won't wake up, he won't--"

"Take it easy, Blue," Ratchet said, jerking a thumb at Red Alert, who hurriedly got up and headed out the door and towards the lab. "Who won't wake up?"

The little mech dissolved into incoherent sobs and mumbles; the others in the room could no longer make out what he was saying. They heard a click as Red Alert joined the link, but he spoke softly enough that Ratchet was his only audience. Chromia and Arcee exchanged worried glances, and Starscream seemed to shrink by the astrosecond, as if he could sense what had occurred in his lab.

"First Aid," Ratchet said quietly, and said mech looked up expectantly. "Keep Optimus and Hotshot out of the medical bay."

FA blinked, cocking his head. "Well, if you say so, but why…?"

"Don't ask questions, just do it!" Ratchet snapped, getting to his feet. "This meeting is adjourned. Keep them out of the med bay, 'Aid, and I don't care how you do it. Fill them to the optics with sedatives if you have to. Starscream, you come with me," he added, and with that stormed from the room, barking additional orders into his comm link. The Seeker followed quickly and without complaint.

First Aid blinked twice and then muttered something about monitoring the med bay doors, and he too departed, leaving Barricade, Chromia, Jazz, Thrust, Arcee, and Perceptor all staring at one another in stunned silence.

"You…you think someone else was attacked?" Arcee whispered, her voice shaking horribly. Chromia took the little femme's hand, shaking her head slightly, but not as an answer to Arcee's question. Perceptor, trembling, got up from his seat.

"I'll go help with…with the patient," he said awkwardly before exiting the room, his head bowed.

"…Who…?" Arcee began, glancing up at Chromia. "Wh-Who do you think…?"

Chromia lowered her head and shuttered her optics. Optimus and Hotshot restricted from the medical bay. Starscream asked to accompany Ratchet. And Bluestreak headed for the lab…all fingers pointed to Jetfire, but she didn't want to believe that any more than she wanted to believe that the first victim had been her bonded.

"Arcee, let's take you back to Rodimus," she said quietly, standing up and offering her hand to the pink femme. "Come on, you'll be safe with him, and he'll feel better if you two stay close. We need him to brief Optimus, too."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Barricade rumbled. "Ratchet didn't want Prime in the med bay, I'm guessing we're not supposed to tell him who the victim is."

"We don't need to say his name, but Optimus needs to know that something in this base is taking out his officers," Chromia replied flatly. "Come on, Arcee, it's okay…"

The little femme followed her mentor from the room on shaking legs, leaving the other mechs to their own devices.

"Are you going back to the medical bay?" Arcee asked tentatively, and Chromia nodded.

"I want to stay with Ironhide. Especially if this…_thing_ is attacking again," Chromia said, setting her jaw. "It might come back to finish the job. And I want you to stay close to Rodimus, you hear?" she added in a growl. "He cares about you like the sun cares for its system, I know he'll look after you."

Arcee nodded mutely and lowered her optics, fighting down the rising tide of guilt within her spark.

* * *

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Blue optics held blue optics, one mech injured, one mech standing. Neither tried to speak, neither tried to look away. They were gauging, silently, how the other might see them now. Both of them felt like traitors and the betrayed; there was no telling how their brother might feel.

Megatron made the first move. Stepping forward soundlessly, without once speaking or dropping Optimus's gaze, he moved to the bedside and knelt down. He leant in and clutched his brother in a silent embrace, fingers squeezing into Optimus's armor. Optimus returned the hold without hesitation, pulling his younger brother close.

They stayed that way for a while, not speaking, barely thinking. Their bond reestablished itself slowly, without their aid or hindrance, until the feelings of guilt and relief and love flowed freely between them.

"I'm so sorry," Optimus breathed after a moment, shuttering his optics tightly. "I'm so, so sorry…"

"Enough," Megatron said roughly, shaking his head. "Drop it. It's in the past, just let it go. No more apologies."

Optimus nodded once and pressed his face into his brother's shoulder. The sound of his dry sobs stirred Megatron's spark, and for a moment he almost considered letting the plan die right then and there, returning to his brother's side, but he knew deep down that it was far, _far _too late for that.

Elita entered the room hesitantly, leaning against the doorframe and smiling upon seeing the brothers' embrace. Optimus looked over Megatron's shoulder at her and smiled shakily; Elita beamed in return, winking.

"Okay," Megatron said breathily, his grip going lax as he stood up. He placed his hands on his elder brother's shoulders, locking optics with him. "Listen. I brought someone with me. You have to promise not to freak out."

"Who?" Optimus inquired curiously, cocking his head.

"Promise me you won't go nuts and damage yourself, Optimus."

"I'll keep calm, don't worry…who did you bring?"

Megatron stepped back and threw Elita brisk nod. She smiled reassuringly before turning to murmur to the femme behind her, and Eclipse tentatively stepped into her brother's room.

For a moment, Optimus didn't react. The femme before him was young, with blue armor that--was also white? He blinked, shaking his head slightly, cocking it to the side.

Eclipse, meanwhile, was stunned. Her brother. Her beloved elder brother, the mech who had carted her on his shoulders when she was a sparkling, taken her into meetings with the High Council and played with her even as the Councilors tried to speak to him. The mech who had sat with her late into the night, telling her stories of his favorite heroes and their adventures.

"Optimus?" she whispered, taking a tentative step forward. "You don't remember me, do you? At least, not like this…" She gestured vaguely down at her frame, and tears abruptly welled her optics. "You might not know me, but I know you…_Optimus!_"

She rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck, sobbing helplessly into his shoulder guard. Optimus lifted his arms to the sides as if he was afraid to touch her, confusion coloring his faceplates.

"I'm sorry," Eclipse whimpered, clutching her eldest brother tightly. "I was such a moron! I wanted to help you guys, I swear that was all, and I was so _gullible_--! I'm sorry, bro, I'm sorry…"

Optimus's jaw dropped. His arms tightened around the femme, optics widening in shock. "…_Eclipse_?"

She nodded, sniffling, and he pulled back gently to peer carefully into her optics. Optimus was dumbstruck even as he took her face in his hands. His little sister? His beloved little femme?

"But…" he said weakly. "But…you…you vanished, and…_holy frag, are you bonded?!_"

"What?" she asked startled, but he frowned, leaning in closer.

"There's subtle denting around the rim of your chestplates! Who the frag are you bonded to? And who the Pit are you not still puking on my armor?! You're supposed to be a sparkling still! And damn it all _I missed you!_"

Eclipse yelped when Optimus abruptly threw his arms around her, trapping her in a bear hug. He held her tight, spark soaring in its chamber, a stupid grin spreading on his face. He didn't care how big she was, whether she was bonded or to whom.

He had his baby sister back.

* * *

"So the funny thing is that Alpha Trion pulled off this one, too," Megatron sighed, handing his brother a cube of energon and plunking himself down in a chair.

"Somehow I'm not surprised," Optimus said darkly, scowling. "That mech…"

Eclipse was perched on the end of her brother's berth, swinging her legs back and forth while staring around the sparsely decorated room with interest. Her brother had a few pieces of art displayed on the walls, most by a mech he'd called Sunstreaker. What caught her attention, though, was the small shelf in the corner that was full to brimming with photocubes.

"So I think it's time we got an explanation, Eclipse," Megatron said, folding his arms over his chestplates. Elita shuffled her feet awkwardly from her seat on the couch, wondering if she should leave, but a gentle smile from Optimus calmed her immediately. She didn't feel entirely that she belonged among the siblings, but if Optimus wanted her there, she'd stay.

"It's kinda a long story," Eclipse said, shrugging. "Optimus, are you sure you don't want to get some recharge in first?"

"I'm fine, stop stalling," Optimus said flatly, and she flinched. "You can give us the condensed version if you like."

Eclipse considered, swirling the contents of her energon cube thoughtfully. She inhaled deeply and looked up at a bit of artwork that she particularly liked and decided to speak to it rather than her brothers.

"I disappeared, you know, right after you two got those first few tip-offs about a rebellion movement in the south," she began, and Optimus and Megatron nodded vaguely. "Alpha Trion was visiting Optimus's base that day because there was High Council meeting the next morning and he said he didn't want to be tardy. I was playing in the nursery when he came in to see me."

Optimus's optics darkened a shade in anger, and Elita resisted the urge to get up and comfort him. Megatron seemed fine now, but she still thought it best to restrain her affections toward Optimus until more time had elapsed so the emotional wounds could heal over. If that was even possible.

"And what did Trion want?" Megatron asked coolly, his voice dripping with venom.

"Wanted to know if I'd like to help you and Optimus," Eclipse replied carefully. "He said you two would worry about me a lot if a war started, since I was so small. He asked me if I wanted to be big so that I could defend myself, so that you guys wouldn't have to watch over me all the time. He said that you'd be stressed as it was, and that I could become a burden to you."

"That's bullslag," Optimus interrupted.

"You've never been a burden to us--"

"You were a _blessing_--"

"We loved--_love_ you--"

"I know, I know," Eclipse sighed, waving a hand in dismissal. "I mean, I know that now. But I was just a child then. I didn't know any better. I just wanted to help my big brothers, you know? And that's what I told him. I told him that I'd help you in any way I could. So he…took me. Told me to trust him and just carried me off. He must have cloaked us, or something, otherwise someone would have noticed him taking me away.

"He told me to recharge," Eclipse continued, frowning as she tried to remember. "So I did, for an eternity, it seems. And when I woke up, I was like…this," she said, gesturing helplessly to her adult frame. "But I was smarter. More mature, I guess, more developed. As articulate and able to think as I am now. I asked him how it had happened, because the last memory I had was of the base's doors close behind us.

"And he told me, the full truth. At least, I hope it was the truth. He said that he'd removed my spark from my body and held it in containment, in a healthy environment where it would grow quickly. He'd removed my memory chips and inserted them into a fully programmed adult processor, one that was already calibrated to my projected personality. I could think as an adult even if I had no memory of my growth. He inserted my new processor and spark into an adapted adult frame, and…that's it," she said lamely, shrugging.

"No, that's not," Megatron murmured, shaking his head. "You were in Haven. You're the commander of the Neutral faction. That's not the end."

Eclipse grinned over at her brother. "You're as perceptive as always. No, that's not it. Trion had a friend--rather, a contact, that he asked to look after me. This mech was to escort me to the city called Haven and help me establish a life there. What Trion didn't tell either of us until sometime later was that he had imitated the effects the Matrix of Leadership has on a processor. He'd given me artificial confidence and charisma in place of a blessing from Primus."

"A blessing from Primus?"

Eclipse glanced over her shoulder at Optimus, pouting playfully. "Come on, big bro, you're the history freak. The legends say that the holders of the Matrix are Primus's most beloved children."

"Most of the holders of the Matrix have met gruesome and tragic ends," Optimus grumbled, and Elita bit down her giggle. Leave it to Optimus to memorize not only the lives of his predecessors but their _deaths_ as well.

"Anyhoo," Eclipse said lightly, rubbing at an imaginary speck in her armor, "bots took to me fast, I guess. I knew that you two were fighting and I knew that bots were getting hurt. And I…didn't like it. So Wingsaber and I--"

Optimus abruptly choked on his energon, dropping the cube and coughing violently. Elita jumped up and rushed over, whacking his back until he managed to hack it up from his intakes.

"W-_Wingsaber_?" he gasped, clutching his wounded abdomen, and Elita forced him to lie back while she gathered up the soiled thermal blankets. "Oh, sorry, Lita, I didn't mean to…"

"I know, I know, just shut up…"

"Sorry…Eclipse, what the _frag_ was Wingsaber doing with you?"

"You know him?" Eclipse asked in surprise, cocking her head. "He didn't mention you."

"He wouldn't," Optimus growled darkly, and Megatron arched an optic ridge. "Why was he with you, Eclipse?"

"He was my escort," she replied, shrugging lightly. "You know, the mech Trion asked to watch over me. We became friends pretty fast, and we got really close…he's a good mech, Optimus, I'm sure you'll--"

"You didn't _bond_ with him, did you?" Optimus gasped in horror, realization dawning in his optics.

Eclipse frowned slightly, glaring at him. "Yes, I did. I love him, Optimus, and nothing you say will change--"

But Prime wasn't listening anymore. He buried his face in a cushion with a low groan and was muttering under his breath. Elita made a mental note to inquire about his relationship to this Wingsaber character.

"So you began an alliance of Neutrals, then," Megatron pressed, trying to bring the topic back on course.

"What? Oh, yeah," Eclipse continued, nodding. "Yeah. There were a lot of old generals living in Haven, so they helped me establish a functioning base. Wingsaber had a lot of skills as a leader too, so he helped out a bunch. I found a second in command and then we started spreading the word that there was a sanctuary for anyone who wanted to avoid the fighting."

"What's your second in command like?" Elita questioned, trying to wrest the cushion away from Optimus, but he seemed to be enjoying teasing her with it.

"She's a Seeker. Dark purple armor. She's sort of obnoxious and just a little insane."

"Another insane Seeker," Optimus snorted, rolling his optics when Elita finally wrenched the cushion away. "Perfect. Like we don't already have enough of those…"

"But that sort of brings us to today," Eclipse finished, playing with the thermal blankets.

"Why didn't you seek us out sooner?" Megatron asked quietly, and she stilled.

"Um…" she lowered her gaze, biting her lower lip, and Optimus and Elita's soft bickering was silenced. "Come on, Megatron. I didn't really know…how to face you. I mean, I was hardly your little sister anymore, I was a soldier. And you guys were getting ready to fight a war, I didn't…" Her optics abruptly filled with tears. "I didn't want to get in the way…"

Megatron moved forward, wrapping his arms around his little sister and holding her tight, shushing her gently. Optimus touched her shoulder with one hand and she scooted back so he could envelope her as well. Her sobs quieted quickly within her brothers' embrace, but they didn't release her.

A sort of surreal feeling fell over Optimus as he shuttered his optics, rocking his precious femme gently. Having both of his siblings so incredibly close, locked in his arms, absolutely blew his mind. And that wasn't even the end of his blessings--his sparkmate was at his side, head leant gently against his while her small hand rubbed his back. He turned his head subtly and kissed her softly, wanting more than anything to have her spark bonded to his so that he convey just how much he loved her.

And then, with a single knock on the door, the moment was broken, and Optimus was rudely thrust back into reality again.

Megatron let go of his brother and sister and backed up, embarrassed; Eclipse hurriedly rubbed at her optics; Elita moved away from Optimus, and he fell back against the cushions.

Whoever wanted their attention did not wait for permission, and mere astroseconds later Rodimus Prime and Ultra Magnus trooped into the bedroom. Elita, watching her pained and tired sparkmate concernedly, had half a processor to lecture the Pit out of the intruders, but the expressions on their strained faceplates drove the thought from her mind. Rodimus looked grim, which was unusual to begin with, but the normally stoic and reserved Ultra Magnus looked like an odd mix of a nervous petrorabbit and a sparkling that was about to eject its tanks.

"Optimus, sir, I'm sorry to disturb you," Rodimus blurted hurriedly, before any of the others could get a word in. "I know you're still recovering, but Ratchet said this absolutely couldn't wait, and I agree with him. Oh, Megatron, you're here too…good, I won't have to repeat myself…" His optics fell on Eclipse, and he fidgeted nervously. "Um, this isn't really a matter for civilians, sirs…"

"Eclipse is the leader of the Neutral faction in Haven, she's perfectly qualified to hear whatever report you have to give, Rodimus," Optimus corrected, but not unkindly. "What's the situation?"

Rodimus glanced back at Ultra Magnus, but it was more than apparent that the larger mech wasn't going to be able to open his mouth without ejecting his tanks, so the flame-endorsed sub-commander turned back to his leaders. For a moment he wasn't sure who to look at; he trusted Optimus above anyone else, but he couldn't bear to see the devastated expression that would undoubtedly cross Prime's face at hearing the fate of his best friend. But at the same time, Rodimus didn't want to see Megatron's cold, calculated indifference. And the little blue femme didn't look entirely composed to begin with.

So he turned to Elita. "Well, erm, ma'am, you've already been briefed on the second attack, but for the sirs…Prowl and the twins were running routine perimeter inspection very early this morning, while it was still dark. They were all found unconscious by the time the sun arose, all displaying symptoms very similar to those presented by Ironhide after he was attacked on the field by…whatever attacked him."

Optimus's optics widened marginally. "Why wasn't I informed of this earlier?" he demanded, making to stand up, but Elita held him down stubbornly, placing a hand on his abdomen.

"Well, because at that time we had a probable cure, sir," Rodimus replied, mumbling slightly and shuffling his feet. "We didn't see the need to inform you, especially since the stress could have complicated your recovery."

"What do you mean, _at the time_?" Elita questioned softly, turning her luminous gaze upon Rodimus, who was looking more and more in Ultra Magnus's state with each passing astrosecond. "I was told that Jetfire has a cure."

Rodimus swallowed and lowered his gaze to the floor. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be told that Springer or Arcee had been attacked, that they'd been found half bled to death on the floor, that they were barely clinging to life in the medical bay. The very thought made his tanks churn and his spark clench with anxiety. Optimus was wounded as it was, suffering, and this was to be his _reality_, not a mere imagining.

"Jetfire," Rodimus began quietly, "called for a conference to get approval for his proposed antivirus. All of the appropriate mechs and femmes gathered in the conference room, and Jetfire went up to the lab to gather the last of his findings. Several breems passed and he still hadn't shown up, so Bluestreak went up to the lab to investigate and…"

Rodimus broke off, struggling now to speak. Elita didn't dare turn around; she didn't want to see Optimus's face. Instead she inched a hand back and touched his; his fingers didn't respond.

"Whatever attacked Ironhide and the others somehow got into the base," Ultra Magnus said softly, finally regaining his voice. "It got in through the air duct system and dropped into the base. For whatever reason, whatever virus or venom it downloads or injects, it loaded Jetfire with almost three times the amount it used on the others. He's nearly bled out and they can't get him stable. Ratchet says the chances aren't good."

Elita felt Optimus's fingers trembling; she bit her lower lip and lowered her head, fighting down the sobs. She didn't need a bond to the mech to feel his absolute devastation and grief.

Rodimus still couldn't lift his head. He instead shuttered his optics and forced himself to pick up where Magnus left off. "This thing, whatever it is, is going after higher-ups," he said, forcing his voice to sound stronger than he felt. "It got our best warrior, our greatest tactician, and the one bot who could put a stop to it."

"And the twins?" Megatron asked softly, and Rodimus was dementedly relieved to hear that Prime's brother sounded just as shaken as the rest of them.

"We suspect that they were attacked simply because they were there," Magnus answered grimly. "The assassin simply didn't want any witnesses."

They all fell silent. Eclipse was crying again, though silently. Megatron's face was blank, but it was shock rather than indifference.

Slowly, almost against her own will, Elita turned to look at Optimus. He couldn't seem to decide how he felt; his expression ranged from grief-stricken to infuriated to shocked and back again. Finally, he too settled on a blank, but it was something deeper than Megatron's. Elita could still see the grief and fear hiding deep in his optics. Optimus wasn't shocked--he was empty.

On instinct, she slipped her arms around the mech, holding him close and whispering into his audio receptor. She wasn't sure what she was saying, exactly. She foolishly told him that it would be okay; that she was right there; that they'd get whoever did this; and then she clung to him and pressed her face against his and whispered that she loved him.

One arm went around her slowly, awkwardly, as if the action was choreographed by a mere drone rather than a thinking, feeling mechanism. The other joined it after a moment, and gradually Optimus's grip tightened until he was clutching her like an abandoned sparkling would clutch its savior, sobbing brokenly into her shoulder.

Elita shuttered her optics, rocking him gently. She didn't have thoughts for anyone else in the room. She knew that no one felt this grief the way Optimus did. No one else was grieving for a friend they'd connected with more intimately and perfectly than any other mech on the planet. No one else was experiencing the slow, gradual loss of a mech who'd been more of a brother than the sibling they'd been born to.

Jetfire was to Optimus as Elita was to Chromia, as Ironhide was to Ratchet and Sunstreaker was to Sideswipe. A bond so strong it was nearly tangible. A bond like that between brothers, but something on a completely different plane all together.

Elita knew, instinctively, that deep down a part of Optimus was dying at Jetfire's side.

* * *

**(fidgets)**

**(scratches head)**

**Well, that came out a little sadder than I'd originally planned...but Jetfire is my second favoritest mech ever, so I felt the need to start up some (drum roll please) CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT! **

**Sorry if Eclipse's explanation didn't meet expectations; compared to the other stuff in this fic, her story is relatively normal XD Anyway, I don't think spark transfers are all that complex in the long run, and really it was Trion being a mad scientist again. The reasons behind his actions will be discussed later. Actually I think Trion is going to get a chapter all to himself here soon so that he can explain all of this to his poor victims :D **

**So, upcoming: the discovery of Jetfire's datapad, Finder's identity, the revealing of the ancients, the arrival of Eclipse's SIC, and Blackarachnia and Nemesis may finally step out of the dark :D Also, Nemesis's evil ability will also be revealed. If Blackarachnia is to Nemesis as injects is to...?**

**Reviews are nice, you lazy readers, you XD**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

_Plenoptic_

**Landmark chapter! Whooooo! (falls over)**

**I spent an entire weekend watching America's Next Top Model. Ugh… (brain slowly gelatinizing) But I also hammered out chapter nineteen like I'd intended, so it wasn't all for naught!**

**Anyway. Playing around with Armada characters right now, mostly because Blackarachnia keeps killing off my G1 buddies. They'll come back. Never fear :D**

* * *

"SHE'S IN IACON?!"

"Valkyrie, please calm down. She didn't tell me either."

"SHE'S BEEN GONE FOR DAYS AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE?!"

"Well, you didn't either."

"FRAG IT ALL TO PIT!"

Shinkon sighed patiently, twiddling his thumbs while he waited for the aerial femme to calm down. Valkyrie was stalking back and forth across Eclipse's vacant quarters, her dark purple armor catching snatches of the sun through the window. Her blue optics were narrowed almost to slits.

"What's the point in my being second in command if she doesn't even tell me what's going on?!" Valkyrie demanded hotly, slamming a fist into an adjacent wall. Shinkon winced marginally. "Frag! What goes through that kid's processor?!"

"We have to take into account Eclipse's situation," Shinkon soothed quietly. "She grew up literally within a few joors."

"She has an adult processor!"

"Yes, but more a child's spark," the tactician reminded her calmly. "She wanted to see her brothers. Of course she didn't want to take the time to plan out an event, she just left. At least she was wise enough to have Wingsaber accompany her."

"Yeah, great," Valkyrie grumbled, dumping her aft into a chair. "Wingsaber."

Shinkon shrugged absently. He was scarcely more than a youngling himself, at the end of his adolescent years. Unlike his female company, Shinkon was very plain looking; his armor was white, accented only by the brilliance of his cold blue optics. He tended to be rash at times, immature, self-absorbed, and notoriously icy towards any sort of companionship, but he was beyond a genius. His intelligence in science and arithmetic surpassed Elita One's, almost to the point of equaling Alpha Trion's. And Eclipse, being Optimus Prime and Megatron's younger sister, had seen great value in that.

"Wingsaber cares for Eclipse," the tactician said quietly, getting to his feet to stare out the window. "He is a tad reckless, but he will look after her."

"Says you," Valkyrie grunted, and Shinkon couldn't hold back a smile. By all rights the femme should have irritated him out of his processor, but he found that he liked her very much. Her company was sort of uplifting; she'd never pushed him into a close relationship as a friend or otherwise, and he appreciated her respect of his distance.

"If you're really that worried, you could always travel to Iacon yourself, you know," Shinkon mused, swirling the contents of his cube of high grade. "I hear they have a fantastic aerial assault unit there, I'm sure you'd fit right in."

"Like I really wanna fly with a bunch of show-off mechs," Valkyrie grumbled, and Shinkon rolled his optics subtly; it took a show-off to know one. "And you're too young to be drinking that stuff."

Shinkon smirked faintly, downing the rest of the cube. "Age is measured in maturity, not vorns," he replied smoothly. "Valkyrie, go to Iacon. I'll handle things here. I was trained to run massive corporations, remember?"

"Which is different from running a base," Valkyrie shot back, but she hefted herself to her feet, stretching widely. "No, you're right. I'll go. They say that Prime's still fighting the rebels even though Bloodlust is supposedly dead. It's been awhile since I got in some real flight…"

* * *

Once the shock and grief dulled, the anger set in.

It swept through him like a wave, filling every corner of his being until there was little room for anything else. The fury and pain and hate swelled up within him until he didn't think he could contain it, until he could literally feel it seeping from beneath his armor and into every crevice of his life.

He began to see it affect everyone who came near him, anyone who dared to visit him during such a dark time. Elita was always there, always at his bed side, but he could see the distress in her optics, no matter the smile she tried to keep plastered to her face. Megatron fell silent around his brother now, and Eclipse could barely stand to be in the same room with him. And though he had neither seen nor heard from Hotshot, he was sure the yellow mech was feeling the same way, consumed by that gnawing need for revenge.

Moon cycles came and went. Every day Optimus sat near silently in his berth, watching the sun crawl across the sky, and every night he would shutter his optics when First Aid arrived to feebly announce that they were no closer to a cure.

Which meant that Jetfire was still dying.

Optimus spiraled downward slowly. His temperament grew worse with each passing day, each negative report. He spoke less and less, and even his strength seemed to dwindle.

It was…disturbing, Elita felt, to see the well-loved and charismatic commander so utterly broken. Occasionally when she looked at him, at his dull armor and dimmed optics, so devoid of the love and warmth she was so accustomed to, a small bubble of fear would well up within her. No matter how she tried, she could not seem to crush it.

She had fallen so deeply in love with Optimus. She had pushed aside her loyalty to Megatron to fully embrace his brother, she had pledged her spark to the mech. But the Optimus she saw now was not the mech she had come to adore. If Optimus was sad, she could handle that. If he was broken, she would fix him. That wasn't what scared her.

What frightened--no,_ terrified_ her to the core of her being was the hate she saw glimmering in Optimus's optics. As his strength and courage waned that hate grew. She understood that he was angry, and rightfully so, but she had never seen Optimus so consumed by the desire to harm another sentient being. Prime _loathed_ the mechanism that had done this to Jetfire. Hated him or her with every atom of his existence.

And that loathing made Elita's spark ache. She missed her warm mech. She missed the embrace of his strong arms, the warmth of his gentle smile, the love that would radiate from his optics when they held one another close. That mech had enraptured her and swept her away completely, but the light Optimus had lit in Elita's spark was being doused by the shadows he now cast.

She held on, for his sake. She knew that if Optimus lost her now, it would be the end. He may never recover if he lost another loved one. Elita knew that Optimus hated, but none of his anger was directed at her; he still held her hand as he gazed out his window, still leaned over to kiss her softly before she dimmed the lights. He had in no way forgotten his love for her, but she was beginning to feel that his presence had become a double-edged sword.

"Ratchet says you're probably well enough to get up and around," she spoke softly one evening as she gently polished his armor. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

He shook his head minutely, optics trained out the window. Elita sighed, lowering her gaze as she rubbed at his shoulder guard.

"Do you want to see if maybe Ratch'll let you in to see Jetfire?"

"No," Optimus replied flatly. "Not until I found out who did this to him."

She bit her lower lip, adjusting her pressure on a solitary smudge she'd found. She faintly wondered how it had gotten there--she'd polished him every night for the past half orn. "You know that Red Alert and his team are doing their best to--"

"They're doing their best and nothing's happened yet," Optimus snapped harshly. "What does that tell us, Elita?"

Elita shrank back. In any other situation she would have swatted him upside head and growled at him to watch his tone, to remember exactly who he was talking to, but now she just didn't have the spark.

A few moments of silence passed before Optimus suddenly turned to her and leant down, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss, laced with a silent apology. She blinked, surprised, and even more so when he slid his glossa into her mouth, an intimate invitation. A shudder passed through her as she returned the kiss, shuttering her optics when he drew her closer.

His hand wandered down her back to caress her aft and then grab her thigh, pulling her flush up against him. She moaned softly, rocking against him when he lowered his mouthplates to her throat. The passion flowed hot and uninhibited between them, their sparks singing softly to one another as he pulled her down onto the bed and beneath the covers.

He pulled the thermal blankets over their heads as he rolled over to pin her gently beneath him, his lips and glossa dancing with hers once more. She ran her hands up and over his chestplates to cradle his face, kissing him with ultimate tenderness, reminding him that even now, in this dark hour, he was still very much loved.

At her cues his kisses gentled, and the lust that had been pumping through his systems moments before cooled to the glow of passion and love he felt for the femme beneath him. The storm of hate he'd felt within him faded, lulled to calmness by the softly lapping waves that embodied their love making.

For the first time since their tryst after the shower, he made love to Elita One. He felt her again, ran his hands down the expanse of her curvaceous frame, hotly kissed her sweet mouth, enjoyed the arch of her body into his as he pleasured her.

What he loved most was when they overloaded together, gripping and entangled with one another, mouths locked tight to smother their cries lest anyone be walking by. There was an instant, a second suspended within forever, when he felt as one with her. Maybe not on the incredible and heaven-defying level that he imagined equaled sparkbonding, but on some plane of intimacy that he'd never experienced with Aerith.

He realized, as they lay together in the afterglow of their passion, that it was her spark calling to his. The moment was spurred by the way their sparks sang together in such blissfully perfect harmony. Purring softly, he lowered his mouthplates to hers and kissed her tenderly.

Elita always enjoyed the few breems of rest that followed an overload. Her processor would recalibrate, sorting through little tidbits of information that it felt it needed to prepare for her awakening. And as it sorted she would often recall snatches from her past--not memories, per se, but random bytes that always made her spark flutter in joyful recognition. A formula, a particularly hard equation that she'd managed to solve as a youngling, a long forgotten law of ancient science.

In this case, as she rested in Optimus's arms, it was the vivid image of a crime scene. Or rather, all the details of the crime scene, highlighted in her processor based on importance. She saw the hole in the ceiling, the dents in the walls that suggested something had actually scaled them, the stain of Jetfire's energon on the floor, the broken motherboard, Jetfire's mask strewn across the floor--

Something else burst forth in her mind, something so glaringly obvious that she wanted to kick herself for not noticing it earlier.

Elita sat bolt straight up, dislodging her snoozing lover and throwing the cushions haphazardly all over the room.

"Lita?!" Optimus yelped in surprise, rudely awakened and looking quite alarmed.

She wasn't listening; she'd dropped her head into her hands and had her optics closed tight, focusing.

"…Elita?" he repeated, softer this time, edging closer. He laid a gentle hand on her back, rubbing the tense wires and cords soothingly. "What is it, love?"

"There was a datapad," she breathed.

"What?"

"On the desk," she whispered, wondering if it was possible for a spark to literally implode from excitement. "In the lab. There was a datapad."

"You mean…? I'm sure Jet had lots of datapads…"

She shook her head slowly. It was dawning on her now. The realization slammed into her, bombarding her from all sides. Jetfire was smart. A cocky son of a glitch, but smart. Smart enough to have a backup copy for something as vastly important as a life-saving antivirus.

"Come on," she said, leaping from the bed and snapping her crotch plate back into place. "We're going to the medical bay. That datapad was crime scene evidence, Red Alert must still have it."

"And what's so important about the data pad?" Optimus inquired, replacing his own plate, forgetting his anger in light of his beloved's sudden excitement.

"Explain later," she replied, taking his hand and lifting herself on her toes to steal a kiss before he replaced his mask as well. "That was wonderful, by the way, you waited far too long to invite me back into your berth."

Optimus blushed as he snapped his mask back into place, and they embraced for a moment before she was all energy again, nearly bounding out of his quarters. Prime followed her with some difficulty down the many winding corridors of the base and finally to the door of the medical bay.

Elita didn't bother to knock, hammering in an access code and striding inside, brimming with confidence. Optimus followed rather sheepishly; their activities in his room had left his abdomen aching slightly, and Elita's speed in their journey hadn't really done anything to ease his pain. She seemed to realize this, for she rubbed his lower torso gently as they waited for Ratchet to finish checking the vital stats of a patient in a closed ward.

As the CMO exited, Optimus caught a brief glimpse of a long white wing before the door slid shut; his tanks and spark clenched tightly, but he was more than used to the sensation by now.

"Optimus wants to see Jetfire, and I must see Red Alert," Elita announced loudly as soon as Ratchet was within audioshot. He stopped in his tracks and appraised them coolly, one optic ridge arching slightly.

"Oh really," he said mildly. "If Prime wants to see Jetfire, that's fine. He's stable right now. But no messing with the equipment," he added in a growl. "And Miss Elita, you and I will talk."

Optimus looked at Elita meekly, but she shook her head once and pointed him towards the ward, so he had no choice but to troop in, his shoulders slumped slightly.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see Jetfire. He just…didn't want to see Jetfire half _dead_. He wanted to see his best friend healthy and whole, cracking out terrible jokes and barking that obnoxious laugh Optimus had come to love.

The sight that greeted him stopped Optimus in his tracks.

Jetfire, strewn across the berth, was utterly still. There was no twitching of his fingers, no occasional jerk of the foot or mutter from the vocalizer. His optics were offline and his vents silent.

Worst of all was the fact that Jetfire had been laid completely bare for all visitors to see. Gazing at the state of his best friend, Optimus understood Ratchet's reluctance to let anyone in. Jetfire's midsection looked as if it had been dissected; layers of armor had been removed and the delicate protoform covering peeled back to reveal the delicate inner workings of Jetfire's body. Optimus could see the lines weakly pumping energon through the essential mechanisms of the frame. He could see the clench and release of the pump itself, situated just beneath the spark box.

Jetfire's spark itself was terrifying to behold. Optimus knew his best friend's spark to have a wholly majestic glow, casting a vibrant gold light rather than the gentle blue that suited most mechs and femmes. But Jetfire's spark was now dimmed to a glimmer; normally it shone with the intensity of a small sun. All sorts of plugs and various attachments had been strung into and around the spark box, feeding the weak spark some sort of sustenance.

Optimus moved as more a machine than a being, coming to stand quietly at his best friend's side. He'd never imagined that Jetfire could be vulnerable. Never. Jetfire had been blown out of the sky and had bounced back to his feet moments later, laughing about how close a call it had been. He'd had limbs ripped from his body and he'd sat in the med bay, grinning woozily through the sedatives and pain killers and boasting about his own heroics.

Despite all of this, Optimus couldn't help but feel that if Jetfire had seen his own state right now, the poor shuttlebot would've died of fright. Jetfire had never been particularly bothered by seeing his own energon (or even his innards, for that matter), but the mech had always been deathly afraid of needles. What the reason was Optimus couldn't even begin to divine, but Jetfire always hated the chemical injections that came with his servicing. Most mechs avoided appointments just so that they wouldn't have to be alone with the Hatchet, but Jetfire skidded around the med bay every deca-cycle for fear not of Ratchet's wrenches, but of his syringes.

At that moment, though, a needle had been stabbed into every main energon line on the mech's body. In his neck, running along his right hip, beneath his left arm, just beneath his collar armor. Optimus couldn't identify the chemicals being injected, as he'd never been much good at chemistry, but he knew for a fact that Jetfire would have been crying like a little femme if he'd had a good look at himself.

It seemed to take forever for Optimus to work up the courage to lower himself into a chair near his friend's berth. The silence dragged on for another forever or three. What was he supposed to say? Could Jetfire even hear him? Was the mech scared, angry, upset? Or was he laughing about it all, deep down, as carefree as ever?

Optimus gazed down at his best friend, and something inside of him tightened with resolve. No. No, it wasn't going to end like this. Jetfire was immortal. He couldn't be killed. It simply wasn't…possible. It was _inconceivable_. The mech was fearless, without worries or inhibitions. He'd been at Optimus's side from the very beginning, it seemed. They'd wrestled their way through the academy together, served as recruits, grunts, and finally as officers under Sentinel Prime. Jetfire was Optimus's opposite and other half; they completed one another. Optimus couldn't stand to lose Jetfire any more than he could stand to lose Elita.

On impulse, Prime reached out and gripped the shuttle's motionless hand, his spark clenching. "I'm not going to say good-bye," he said softly, squeezing the fingers clasped in his. "I'm not going to say good-bye because you're not going to die. And I'm not going to give up. I'll find whoever attacked you, and I'll bring them to justice. No matter what."

…_No matter what_.

* * *

Ratchet and Red Alert were silent while Elita sifted through the crime scene evidence. Frag, Optimus had been witlessly correct--Jetfire _did_ have a lot of datapads. Tons of datapads. Enough that even Prowl would go insane. How was it that Jetfire could keep track of all of this research, yet seemed unable to file even a simple expenses report?

"Errr, commander?" Red Alert piped up tentatively. "Um…what exactly are you looking for, ma'am?"

"A datapad," she said distractedly, and the medic and his assistant shared a sidelong glance.

"Don't you suppose you could be more specific?" Ratchet asked crisply. Elita threw aside the datapad she'd been scouring--figures Jetfire would have some flattering pictures of females lying around.

"Whatever attacked Jetfire broke his computer's motherboard in half," Elita said, turning around and waiting patiently for verification. When Red Alert nodded pensively, she continued. "So supposedly, all evidence of a cure was lost. But do you really suppose Jetfire would have been neglectful enough to not have a backup copy?"

"Yes," Ratchet said flatly, and the other two occupants in the room glared at him. "What? I'm sorry. I know he's dying, and I know it's horrible. But it doesn't change the fact that he was more irresponsible than the twins on ten tankards of high grade."

"Irresponsible, but smart," Elita said softly. "Think about it. Think about the victims. Ironhide--one of the strongest warriors in Optimus's command. And Prowl, the smartest bot in all of Iacon. And then Jetfire, who comes up with a cure that could revive them. Someone is picking them off, trying to isolate Optimus so he's got no one to rely on. And only a few select bots on this base knew that Jetfire had a cure."

"You think there's a traitor on base," Red Alert breathed.

Elita nodded grimly. "And I think Jetfire figured that out first. I think he got suspicious, so he hid his cure in an inconspicuous little datapad. Look at all of this--there were tons of them lying around. One lying randomly on a counter wouldn't have been suspect at all. The attacker wiped out his main database and split. But if my theory is right, then there's a cure in here somewhere." She looked up at them, optics bright. "If I'm right, then it's _not_ too late."

The two mechs were silent for a time, both silently contemplating their predicament. Elita turned around and wordlessly began searching datapads again. It came as a surprise when Red Alert abruptly sat beside her and joined in the search.

"I think you're right," he said, turning and offering her a reassuring smile. "And I believe in Jetfire. So we'll stay up all night if we have to!"

Elita beamed and turned to look at Ratchet, who'd strode forward and was examining one of Jetfire's female-related datapads.

"He had this kind of stuff and never bothered to share?" the medic said incredulously. "Now I'm not so sure if I want to save the fragger or not…"

Elita laughed in spite of herself, an almost giddy feeling rising up within her. They were so close now. She could feel it, not just deep in her spark, but all throughout. Jetfire must have saved his cure. And they'd find it.

"…Lita?"

She glanced up and turned around, a smile crossing her faceplates at the sight of a timid Optimus poking his head in through the door. With a pat on Red Alert's shoulder as a silent request that he keep looking, she rose from her seat and moved gracefully across the room to slip through the doorway and join Optimus in the empty hall. Closing the door to Ratchet's office quietly, she turned and tucked her hands behind her back, looking pointedly up at her beloved.

Optimus shrank slightly, hunching his shoulders and dimming his optics as he looked down at her. "Elita, I…" He frowned, trying to piece together what was on his mind. "I'm sorry for how I've been…behaving, as of late. I've been angry, and a few breems ago I took it out on you, and I…I'm sorry, I never meant to--"

He broke off when she abruptly moved forward, wrapping her arms around his chest and pressing her face to his armor. He stilled, cautious on instinct, and lifted a tentative hand to rest it on her back, pulling her closer.

"Elita?"

"Come down here," she giggled, lifting her head to meet his gaze, and he obediently bent over so they were more level. Elita pulled away his mask without hesitation and leaned in, kissing the mech softly. Optimus blinked, surprised, but no sooner had he thought to respond to her affections than she had pulled back, holding his face in her hands with a smile lifting her lips.

"Silly mech," she murmured, thumbs tenderly caressing his cheekplates. "You know I can't stay mad at you. And I understand. Jetfire got hurt, and you were upset. I would have been much worse."

"You don't have a mean nodule in your body," he remarked, and she snorted before pulling him close again, wrapping her arms around his neck in a full embrace.

"I love you, Optimus," she assured him softly, caressing the back of his helm. "I don't want you to ever forget that."

After a moment he timidly wrapped his arms around her small waist, turning his face into her shoulder and shuttering his optics. Primus. How he loved her. It was a feeling that welled up from every circuit, every shard of his being. He held her tighter, running a hand down her back. He'd spent a long, lonely vorn without her, watching her in Megatron's arms, silently yearning for the affections she now bestowed upon him so freely. And now, to think that it was in him that she sought solace, and support, and it was he that his beloved cared for so deeply…

"I…love you, Elita," he whispered, hands tightening against her armor as if he were honestly afraid to let her go. "So very much."

"I know, silly," she replied quietly, nuzzling the side of his helm. "I know. But you love Jetfire too, do you not?"

He drew back, and though she let go of him, he kept his hands on her waist.

"Jetfire is my best friend," he confirmed, touching his foreplate to hers, optics regaining the lost sort of look that they'd acquired when news of Jetfire's fate had first reached him. "But what can I do?"

She smiled, caressing his faceplate before tenderly replacing his faceplate. "For now, you can help us sort out all of his incriminating femme material so we can find where that maniac keeps his research."

* * *

The recreation room was a scary place.

At least, it was for a young femme, hiding in a mech's body, who'd had an intense fear of males ever since she'd been kidnapped to that underground facility all those vorns ago. So it was a very anxious Aero who sat, perfectly upright and stiff, upon a chair in the rec room, watching its occupants warily and wondering when on Cybertron Megatron would come back to pick him up.

On the other hand, it wasn't quite as boisterous a place as "he" remembered it being. When "he'd" come here with Optimus, it had always been full of rowdy soldiers with high grade in hand, barking out crude jokes and hollering to any femme brave enough to wander in on her own. Aerith, who had always been attached to Optimus's arm like Ironhide's cannons were to his, had always been treated properly, but that didn't really make her anymore comfortable now, even hidden in a mech's frame.

But today, the rec room seemed much more somber. A few mechs joked around, and someone had broken out a few cubes of high grade, but most of the room's occupants looked worn down and outright…sad. It was eerie to recognize some of the mechs and not head over to say hello. She recognized Jazz and Starscream, who were sitting at the same table. She remembered Jazz to be constantly cheery and spirited, but now he and the Seeker both looked strained, upset.

Aerith allowed her/his optics to wander. Her spark jumped when she saw Ultra Magnus, who had always been exceptionally kind to her. He was sitting on a couch beside a femme she didn't recognize, who was rubbing his arm and seemed to be trying to soothe his apparent distress.

"What's Hotshot been up to?"

Aerith jumped at the proximity of the voice, but the tension eased when the mechs walked by, neither having spoken directly to her.

"Been locked in his quarters," the other mech said solemnly, shaking his head. "Reckon we should drag him out?"

"Nah. If he's not out by tonight, we'll alert Prime. He'll be able to coax him out."

The mechs moved out of audioshot, and Aerith inhaled deeply, forcing herself to relax marginally. It would look strange to be so uptight in a place like the rec room, regardless of the dark mood that had fallen over the base.

The poor femme had just begun to settle back in her seat when she was surprised again. Something small had run, full force, into her leg. Looking down, half afraid of what she was about to see--

Her spark stopped.

It was a sparkling. A tiny, tiny yellow sparkling, with bright, baby blue optics. It was twittering away at her, waving its arms and whining for attention. She felt frozen. Part of her didn't want to believe, but she couldn't deny the sudden pull on her spark, the memories that threatened to surface from her processor. The sparkling was…he was her…

"_Bumblebee!_"

She was shocked into looking up at the sound of the voice, and a blue and white mech she knew by the name Mirage came tromping up, looking irritated.

"Bumblebee, I've told you not to do that!" he scolded, bending down to scoop the sparkling into his arms. "I'm terribly sorry there, the rascal got away from me again…what's got you so excited?" he demanded of Bumblebee, poking the sparkling's abdomen in an accusatory sort of fashion. Bee paid the impromptu tickle no heed, no crying and straining to reach Aero.

Mirage released a frustrated sigh and apologetic smile on Aero's behalf before lifting his head to scan the room. "What's got Jazz so down?" he wondered aloud, frowning slightly. "I…I'm sorry to intrude upon you yet again, but could you hold this little mech for a moment?"

Aero nodded wordlessly, struggling not to shake as she opened her arms. Mirage settled Bumblebee directly into her lap and took off, making a beeline for Jazz's table.

For a moment, Aerith couldn't move. Couldn't even think. Bumblebee was now purring, snuggling down against her armor and patting her chest right above her spark. She thought she could hear her own armor rattling, she was trembling so badly. Cautiously, as though afraid she were in a dream that could burst back into reality at any moment, she wrapped her arms around Bumblebee's tiny frame and hoisted him up gently, cradling him.

The sparkling curled up immediately, wide blue optics blinking up at her. He bleeped at her tiredly, and she felt a small wave of contentment wash through her spark.

"Bee," she breathed. "Bumblebee. Bee. Bee. _Bee_."

"Bee," he giggled, tapping his own noseplates. "Bee!"

Struggling not to cry, she laughed weakly, pulling the baby bot closer. "Yes, that's right. You're Bee. You're our little…you're our Bumblebee…"

She pressed her foreplates to his, shuttering her optics. Memories. Oh, the memories. Optimus, coming home late, overjoyed to find that his small family had stayed up waiting for him. Optimus, bending down to scoop Bumblebee into his arms before kissing Aerith tenderly. Optimus, sinking onto the couch while Bee drifted off in his arms, softly asking how the day had gone. Optimus, smiling and wrapping one strong arm around her waist when she leaned against him and whispered that the day was all the brighter because he was home.

"That's odd."

Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice, and her spark clenched so tight that Bee grunted, wriggling to try and shake the discomfort.

In some corner of her processor, Aerith didn't think she'd ever see him again. But there before her stood Optimus Prime, red and blue armor aglow in the pleasant light of the rec room. There stood Optimus Prime, his ethereal, all-seeing blue optics trained on the sparkling in her arms.

"He normally won't let strangers hold him," Optimus remarked, lowering himself to one knee. He reached out and caressed Bumblebee's small helm, smiling when the sparkling squealed and turned his attention to his male progenitor. Aero remained silent, grip on Bumblebee slackening as she gazed at Optimus.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Prime said suddenly, looking up so fast that Aerith thought she might faint when they made optic contact. "I called you a stranger. That was a bit rude. I'm Optimus Prime, I don't think we've been introduced…"

"Aero," she replied weakly, adjusting her grip on Bee to offer him to the commander. "I, ah…y-you can…if you like…"

"He seems perfectly content with you, it's alright," Optimus assured the younger "mech," smiling gently. "I don't suppose you've been traveling with Megatron?"

Aero jumped, almost dislodging Bee, who squawked indignantly. "I--I, yes, I have, but--how did you…?"

"I was informed that Megatron arrived with someone else," Optimus said, waving a hand dismissively. "Anyway. You were the only face in this rec room I didn't recognize. You want up?" he added, optics warming as he looked down at Bee, who'd decided that Aero was entirely too jumpy for his liking.

Aerith almost melted when Optimus picked the sparkling up, cradling Bee in one arm and tickling his abdominal plating with his free hand. Bumblebee shrieked and giggled, catching his father's hand and chomping down on one thick finger.

"Ouch," Optimus grunted, tugging his digit back. "No bite, Bee, how many times have we gone over this?"

Bumblebee growled, making another snatch at Optimus's fingers.

"No, Bee! Primus…"

"Aw, is someone having problems with the sparkling?" a feminine voice trilled teasingly, and Aero stiffened when the reddish femme she'd seen earlier appeared at Optimus's shoulder. What had her name been? Elita?

"Hey there, Bee!" the femme greeted warmly, reaching over Optimus's massive forearm to tickle the small bot's abdomen. "As cute as you are, I'm afraid I need to steal Optimus from you for a moment. He's helping us search through datapads. Isn't he a good mech?"

Bumblebee squealed, reaching his arms up and craning his head back to look up at Elita, a look of absolute adoration on his faceplates. Aerith felt her spark clench and twist when the femme commander, grinning, hefted Bee from Optimus's arms and cuddled the sparkling close.

"Oh, Aero," Elita said cheerfully, having just taken notice of the young mech. "Nice to see you again. Where's Megatron?"

Aero didn't reply. He couldn't. His--_her_ spark was tying itself in knots, optics locked on her tiny son in the other femme's arms. Bumblebee was purring, nuzzling into the warm crevices of Elita's armor. Happy, content.

It rose up then. Fury. Jealousy. Blind, flat-out _hatred_ for the femme before her. How _dare_ she. How dare Elita One step in and…and…_seduce_ Optimus, act like she was Bumblebee's _mother_! Aerith had been there long before she had! Aerith had been Optimus's beloved, his berth mate, his confidante and closest friend! _She'd_ given a shard of her spark and used it to create Bumblebee! How dare Elita One think she could ignore all of that--

And how _dare_ Optimus let her?!

Aero reacted. She'd long since lost the capacity for control. She was broken, beaten, trapped in a body that wasn't her own, and the sight of another femme cuddling her sparkling--

Aero snapped, lunging forward and punching--_punching­_--Elita One in the faceplates, using the momentary shock to seize Bumblebee and hug the screaming sparkling to her chestplates, turning and running, running, leaving it all behind…

* * *

"…Huh. Well, I suppose I should have mentioned that Aero was a bit…disturbed."

"Yes, you should have!" Optimus fumed, casting an infuriated glare across the med bay at his twin before turning back to the berth. "Ratchet, is she--?"

"For Pit's sake, she's fine," Ratchet grumped, holding Elita One's chin in one hand while he worked on her left cheek. "Megatron, you said that's a new frame that Aero's got?"

"Yes."

"Lucky," the medic grunted. "The edges of his armor are still sharp, not smoothed out yet. Your faceplates split but didn't dent, Elita, so no permanent damage done, provided it doesn't scar. There's no need for a weld, we'll put some tape over it and let your repair systems do the rest."

"Sounds good, Ratch. Now could you give Optimus a sedative so he doesn't kill someone?" Elita requested politely, and her intended responded with a long, low growl.

"Elita's face isn't the point!" Optimus snapped, but backtracked quickly. "I mean, it is, and I'm glad you weren't damaged, but he shouldn't have attacked her to begin with! Worse yet, that madmech is still running around with Bum--not to say that Bee is more important than you, Lita, that's not what I--"

"Relax, Optimus, I get what you meant," Elita sighed, flinching when Ratchet purposefully smoothed a piece of medical tape over her cheekplate. "We'll find Aero, don't worry. And we'll let Megatron deal with the disciplinary action, yes?"

Optimus frowned. "I think that's better left to Prowl…when he wakes up, that is…"

"No," Elita replied flatly, glaring her beloved down with ease. "If Aero's mentally unstable, we can't risk upsetting him. Megatron knows him best, we'll let him deal with it."

"I appreciate that," Megatron sighed, rubbing the back of his helm. "And, Elita, I'm sorry--I shouldn't have left him alone in there…"

"What I don't get is why he attacked _Elita_," Optimus mused, settling down at her side on the berth. "He seemed fine when I was talking to him, but when she picked up Bumblebee, Aero just--snapped."

"Glitches can be funny that way," Ratchet sighed, patting Elita's cheekplate as he stood up. "Who knows how his mind works. Primus, look what one electrical misfire or five in the processor can do to a mech…"

They all fell silent when Optimus's comm link beeped, and he was quick to answer it.

"Prime."

"Optimus, we've got Bumblebee," Red Alert's voice announced. "And Aero's in custody."

"Alright. I'll come down to collect Bee, and Aero is to be left to Megatron for punishment," Optimus replied briskly. "Thank you, Red Alert. You could be Prowl's twin."

"Flattering, Commander, but I've got no great desire to do this day in and day out," Red Alert retorted, amused. "Red Alert out."

"See?" Elita chided, arching an optic ridge at Prime. "I told you it'd be fine. Now then, we need to get back to work," she added briskly, sliding off the berth. "Ratchet, you left all of Jetfire's stuff out, right?"

"Oh. That." Ratchet frowned slightly, rubbing his chin. "Actually, we think we found the pad with the cure on it."

Her head snapped up, optics wide. "What?! You found it?! Are you administering the antivirus?"

Ratchet shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. "Well…that's the thing. It's…confusing."

"How so?"

"We can't make heads or tails of it," Ratchet said flatly, folding his arms over his chest. "It's just a bunch of babble about organics and some kind of poison. Neither Wheeljack nor I had a clue what the moron was going on about."

"That's alright, let me look at it," Elita said promptly, looking quite unflustered by their predicament. "I'll figure it out. Optimus…"

"I'll meet you in my quarters as soon as I've got Bee," he promised. "Put that brilliant processor of yours to work in the meantime, will you?"

She flashed him a smile and with a quick thank-you to Ratchet and wave to Megatron, her lithe frame was out the med bay doors and down the hall.

"Well then, you two can scram," Ratchet said, turning to scowl at the twins. "Don't you both have somewhere you need to be?"

"Oh--right," Optimus said, jumpstarting back into action, having been mesmerized by Elita's graceful departure. "We're going, Ratch, no need to go for the wrench…"

The twins set off down the hall, matching one another step for step. A silence hung between them, but it wasn't as awkward as Optimus had expected. It was quiet, but companionable.

"I'd forgotten," Megatron sighed quietly, and Optimus glanced over at him.

"Forgotten what?"

"This," the Protectorate answered, making a broad motion with his hand. "All of it. What it was like to be a functioning part of this base. What it was like to be looked up to, to be needed. What it was like to be a brother with an obnoxious older sibling," he added smartly, and Optimus grinned.

"It's…good to have you back, Megatron. To be frank, I was afraid…"

"…That it was all for naught?" Megatron prompted when Prime didn't continue. "That our relationship was broken, that we'd managed to tear one another--and ourselves--apart? Don't be an idiot, Optimus. It'll never happen."

Optimus beamed, and Megatron returned the gesture by punching his older brother's shoulder accusingly.

"You know what, though," Megatron sighed, his happy demeanor diminishing slightly. "I'd also forgotten just how beautiful she is."

Optimus nearly stumbled, pausing mid-stride before remembering how to move his feet. He widened his steps until he'd caught up to his younger brother. The silence returned for a few minutes, while Optimus's processor churned. He didn't know how to reply to Megatron's statement. He wasn't so sure he wanted to. As close as they were, it boiled down to one fact--he and his brother were desperately in love with the same femme. In a way it had almost been simpler when Elita had been torn between the two of them; at least then they'd all been suffering together.

"It's okay, you know," Megatron said after awhile, looking over at Optimus. "You and her. It's fine. I had my chance, and I fragged it up royally."

"But you saved me," Optimus said sadly, lowering his optics. "If I'd never contracted that virus, then you and Elita--"

"Would have remained together until she realized I wasn't the one she was in love with," Megatron finished flatly, and Optimus looked at him in surprise. "She'd realize that she'd loved you from the moment she set optics on your stupid aft, and she'd have left me. The separation would have drained us and eventually killed us both. At least this way we're all alive. And she's happy. And really, Optimus, that's all I give a frag about."

The silence settled between them again, and yet it still wasn't awkward. Megatron seemed to have closure, to some level. It soothed Optimus's spark, to know that his brother wasn't necessarily happy, but could finally begin to recover. It was a feeling that overpowered him, until he stopped in his tracks, gripped his brother by the shoulder, and pulled him into a rough embrace.

Megatron stood in shock for a moment before returning his brother's hold. Neither of them had ever been much for hugs (unless the recipient was a femme, of course) but the embrace they now shared was strangely comfortable.

It almost made Megatron feel guilty.

Almost.

* * *

**South Park is my new favorite TV show. Ever. :D Not as good as TF, of course, but still pretty damn hilarious. **

**Oh, this fic is dedicated to i-love-me-some-leggypoo, who has been faithfully sending me tons of fanfiction for my enjoyment (and I enjoyed it very, VERY much. Heh) So I hammered out this chapter for her as payment. Now, spoilers, spoilers...uh oh :D**

**I didn't proofread all of this chapter (I usually don't) so don't kill me if there are some mistakes. And sorry if the Aero/Aerith/him/her thing got confusing; I got confused myself D:**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

_Plenoptic_

**There's a new South Park on in a few minutes, but I thought I'd get this started because I have so little work tonight :3 Please enjoy, and let's crank out those reviews, hmmm? Even smiley faces make me happy :D**

**Litahatchee gave me some very helpful criticism, so from here on out, I'm going to work on making my characters a bit more mature. Er…I'll try my best X3**

* * *

"…I…do not understand it."

"Huh?" Starscream tilted his head back, frowning at the upside-down image of the gigantic purple scientist. "What don't you understand?"

"…His research. His _cure_." Shockwave was utterly still, leaning intently over the tiny datapad before him. He had no facial features save for the one golden optic perched in front and in the center of his angular head. Starscream wondered if the scientist was angry, confused, bitter, or a combination of the three.

"His results are that far-fetched?" Starscream inquired, looking back down at his own datapad (which, incidentally, had more to do with femmes than science).

"Not only that, but they don't have anything to _support them_," Shockwave growled, clearly irritated. "We're basing our development of the cure--a very _costly_ development, I might add--on this…this…_lunatic's_ wild deductions."

"They're not as wild as you might think."

Both scientists turned their attention to the rosy red femme in the corner. Elita One was hunched over a small table, Jetfire's datapad in front of her (Shockwave's was a duplicate), her head in her hands and her optics narrowed.

"What do you mean, Commander?" Shockwave asked a little stiffly. It was more than apparent that he was miffed at having the dissection of Jetfire's research taken over by a female, when he thought himself more than capable. But Ratchet had firmly stated that Elita was to head the project, and with Optimus Prime _and_ Megatron backing the decision, there was little Shockwave could do.

"There are all sorts of beings running around this universe," Elita said absently, shuttering her optics. "We've explored only a fraction of it all. There's so much…_more_. I'm not surprised if Jetfire's theory is correct."

"You propose a valid point, Commander, but really…a half machine, half organic?" Shockwave scoffed, shaking his head. "It's simply preposterous."

"But say for a moment that Jetfire's theory _is_ correct," Starscream cut in, tossing down his datapad to join Elita at her table. "What do you make of his results?"

Elita frowned, un-shuttering her optics and skimming over the contents of the datapad once more. Jetfire's work really was erratic; it was as though he'd made a guess out of thin atmosphere rather than creating a hypothesis and then backing it up with research and observation. It defied all Elita had ever learned about the scientific method, but at the same time, all of Jetfire's conclusions seemed to _fit_.

"I think," she said slowly, leaning back in her chair, and felt a spark of amusement when Starscream leaned in, "that Jetfire was suggesting that the virus this thing injects isn't a virus at all. He seems to think that it's some kind of chemical, which is laced with some…organic acid that eats at our parts."

"But if that was true, then shouldn't the victims have bled the acid out?" Starscream pointed out, and Elita fell silent, chewing her lower lip. It was the one hole in Jetfire's answer.

"Clearly, this is an acid we have never encountered before," Shockwave quipped, joining the twosome with some reluctance. He wasn't so much concerned for the victims as he was eager to solve the puzzle, Elita knew, but his input was still perfectly valid. "Perhaps it has properties we have not considered?"

"Maybe…maybe it chemically _bonds_ with the energon in our systems," she said after a moment. "Maybe it spread, affecting all of the life fluid, so even though they lost so much energon…"

"The acid would still be present, so they would continue to regress," Starscream finished, optics going wide. "So, to cure them--"

"We'd have to drain them and refill their lines with energon from Ratchet's infusion stores," Elita said, spark quickening with excitement.

"Then Ratchet would just have to repair the damaged parts--"

"--And they'd be good as new, wouldn't they?"

The duo stared at one another, nearly breathless with excitement.

"We've gotta tell Ratchet," Elita whispered. "And Wheeljack."

"And Red Alert."

"And First Aid."

"And Jetfire."

"We have to wake Jetfire up first!"

"Then what are you doing just sitting there, femme?! Let's go already!"

Nearly knocking their chairs over in their haste, Starscream and Elita snatched up their datapads and sprang to their feet, sprinting across the quiet lab and down the hall.

"…You're welcome!" Shockwave hollered after them, before sinking back into his seat, scowling--on the inside.

* * *

"First Aid…we're going to break this down real simple."

"O-Oh. R-really? Maybe we could, uh, 'break this down' a little further from the med bay?"

"…Nah."

"Let's break it down _inside_ the med bay, FA."

"Uh, but Ratchet told me--"

"Ratchet let me in when I was with Elita, First Aid."

"Yes, but--"

"Shouldn't be any different now that I'm with Hotshot, should it, First Aid?"

"I-I suppose not, but…uh…"

"Oh, stop it," Ratchet huffed, swinging the med bay door open from the inside, and First Aid, who had been leaning against it, nearly fell on his aft. "You two are incredibly bad at being even remotely intimidating. What do you want?"

"We wanna see Jetfire," Hotshot blurted determinedly. "And we're not leaving until we do!"

Ratchet arched one optic ridge, lazily allowing his gaze to move upwards to Optimus Prime. "Oh, really?"

"Recruits," Optimus muttered, casually covering Hotshot's mouth with one huge hand. "You know. Impulsive to the end."

"I'm not a recruit anymore," Hotshot muttered darkly, voice muffled by Optimus's imposing hand. "Leggo, Boss."

"Only if you promise to shut up."

"Fine, fine…"

"_**Ratchet!**_"

The medics glanced further down the hall, and Optimus and Hotshot turned to see Elita and Starscream skid around a corner before sprinting towards the foursome, clutching one another for balance as they slid to a stop.

"Got it!" Elita gasped, seizing Optimus's arm to keep from plowing into Ratchet. "The cure, we've got it worked out!"

"Really?" First Aid said excitedly, while Ratchet's optics threatened to pop out of his faceplates. "So soon? That's wonderful, what's the antivirus sequence?"

"Bleed 'em," Starscream panted, and after an astrosecond First Aid looked at him.

"I'm sorry--what?"

"You've got to bleed them out, Ratch, then cycle new energon in," Elita explained hurriedly, looking up at the medic. "Come on, I'll explain while we get started…"

"Hold it!" Ratchet yelped, jumping when she pushed past him and into the med bay, Starscream on her heels. "I can't let you drain my patients without a logical _reason_, Elita!"

"I've got a logical reason, but who knows how much longer they're going to hold?" she demanded, turning on her heel to lock him in a fiery glare. "Ratchet, you start on Jetfire, and First Aid, come help Starscream and me with Ironhide. Optimus, could you be a dear and go start collecting transfusion bags from storage?"

"Huh? Oh, um…" Optimus tossed a hesitant glance in the stunned CMO's direction before nodding quickly and hurrying towards the back room.

"Explain, Elita," Ratchet growled, following the femme commander into Ironhide's room. He was perfectly ready to start shouting, but Chromia was recharging at her mate's side, so Ratchet forced himself to keep his voice in check. "What's going on?"

"The 'virus' is actually an organic acid," Elita whispered, examining the tube in one of Ironhide's lateral lines. "It's chemically bonded to the victims' energon, and attacking certain alloys--like the valves connecting Ironhide's lines to his vital components. There is no antivirus, because it's not attacking the processor, it's _inside their fuel lines_."

Ratchet's mouthplates worked soundlessly for a moment, then he shook his cranial unit hard before joining the femme at his patient's side. "Are you _sure_?"

"Almost positive," she replied firmly. "Starscream and I, uh, stopped by the chem lab before we came down here, and I examined a sample of Ironhide's energon."

"What? Wait a second, that was medical research material--"

"And I used it for just that reason, Ratchet! Anyway. There was a foreign compound laced with Ironhide's energon molecules. I'm sure it's from his attacker."

Ratchet sighed heavily. Even if she hadn't experimented, he would have been compelled to believe Elita; she had, after all, been a student of Alpha Trion.

"Chromia," he said gruffly, shaking her shoulder gently. "Time to wake up."

The femme stirred sleepily for a moment before lifting her head, blinking drowsily at the crowd of bots around her beloved's berth. "…Lita? Ratch? What's goin' on…?"

"We're going to bring Ironhide online," Elita said reassuringly, reaching out to grip Chromia's hand. "Care to help?"

Chromia was off the berth in an instant, optics alight with excitement. "What are we doing? Did you find an antivirus yet?"

"Doesn't need one, it's--oh, never mind, we're going to cure him," Ratchet rambled uselessly, examining a line traversing Ironhide's throat. "How do you propose we do this without inflicting more damage, Elita?"

"Go for the lateral lines, they'll be easy to repair, and they put forth a lot of energon," Elita suggested. "We'll just filter his energon out and into a container to avoid contamination…"

"If we're going to drain him, I'll need to put him into stasis," Ratchet noted, frowning. "Chromia, can you reach him over your sparkbond? Tell him we're putting him into stasis lock, but it's all for his own good, alright?"

Chromia nodded briskly, bending over to place her foreplate against Ironhide's, one hand caressing his shoulder gently. Elita and First Aid set up the line drip while Ratchet almost tenderly inserted a small plug into an access port in the back of Ironhide's helm.

"Stasis has been initiated," he said quietly. "Okay…rerouting all power to his pump." He glanced down and to his left, grinning weakly when bright blue energon gushed into the tube in Ironhide's fuel line, filtering into the containment chamber Starscream had set up.

"Are we rolling?" Optimus asked somewhat breathlessly as he entered the room, carrying a cooling chamber full of energon transfusion bags. "Ironhide…how's he doing?"

"He's in stasis," Ratchet said quietly, scanning over Ironhide's still form. "It'll take a few breems for him to drain, then we'll start to fill him up again and take him out of stasis. If this works, we'll get to work on Jetfire immediately, then Prowl and the twins…where's Hotshot?" the medic added uneasily, looking up at his commander.

"He's with Jetfire, Ratch. Don't worry, I told him not to touch anything," Optimus assured the medic quickly. "Elita, Starscream--tell me again what's going on?"

The next few breems passed in relative quiet, the two proud scientists explaining their discovery in hushed tones. Optimus followed as best he could, occasionally looking to Elita for elaboration. Ratchet half-listened, more preoccupied with monitoring Ironhide; Chromia could give maybe half a frag about the science behind it all and didn't listen at all.

"The bottom line is that they'll recover, right?" Optimus interrupted as Starscream spiraled into an explanation of organic anatomy.

"It's going to take surgery, and _time_, but yes," Elita assured him softly, taking the mech's hand. "They should be fine, Optimus."

"Better yet, now we know how to stop this thing," Ratchet put in, turning to the trio in the corner. "I mean, whatever it is that attacked them. It took out the security camera in the lab before attacking Jetfire, but it's sure to make another move soon. We'll catch it then."

"I'm going to nab this thing myself," Chromia growled, optics narrowing dangerously, but they never left Ironhide's slumbering faceplates. "I'm going to rip it limb from fragging limb."

"I want a piece, too," Optimus replied darkly, and Elita tightened her hand around his. He glanced sideways at her, but she wouldn't meet his optics.

"By the way, Optimus," Ratchet said, frowning slightly, "if Wing--"

"Don't say it."

"…Fine. If Eclipse's mate happens to come by, I don't want you starting any fights in my medical bay."

Optimus smiled faintly. "I'll try to restrain myself."

"I'm being serious, youngling. You control yourself, or the next time you come crying to me about nearly getting cut in half, I'll hand you a syringe and tell you to sleep it off."

"Speaking of which. I don't suppose we have any idea if Bloodlust is still alive?" First Aid piped up, and the mood was immediately somber once more.

"I haven't received any updates," Prime said, cradling his chin in one hand as he gazed absently at Ironhide. "Although it hasn't been my highest priority," he admitted guiltily.

"Understandable," Ratchet said, then arched an optic ridge. "But…don't our spies normally report to Prowl?"

Optimus shrugged one shoulder but didn't offer any explanation. Ratchet's optics narrowed suspiciously, but let the matter drop, turning back to his patient.

"Okay. First Aid, stop the drip, set up the infusion. I'll take him out of stasis in three breems."

First Aid obeyed hurriedly, and the assembled bots fidgeted nervously as life fluids were pumped steadily back into Ironhide's broken body. Determinedly not letting his hands tremble, Ratchet reinserted his plug and authorized the shut down of the stasis lock.

Optimus got up from his seat and stood at Chromia's side, optics anxiously scanning his guardian's face. "Is he…?"

Ratchet waved a hand to silence him, leaning closer to Ironhide's audio. "Ironhide? Ironhide, can you hear me?"

A moment of silence passed before the weapons specialist emitted a low moan; Chromia gripped his hand tightly, optics sparkling with unshed tears.

"Ironhide, how do you feel?" Ratchet asked quietly, touching the old warrior's helm. "Ironhide?"

"…It hurts," Ironhide mumbled weakly, and the medic leaned in further.

"Where? Where does it hurt?"

"…My arm."

Ratchet blinked, confusion blossoming over his faceplate. "You…Your arm hurts?"

"…Yeah. _Ow,_ Primus, it _aches_." Ironhide cracked open one optic shutter, leveling a glare at his attending. "When the frag did you last oil the transformation gears on my cannons, medic?"

Chromia released a long sigh, dropping her head onto her mate's shoulder and laughing weakly against his armor. Optimus sank onto the edge of the berth, burying his face in one hand; Ratchet scowled darkly and flicked Ironhide's helm.

"Smart aft," he groused, straightening and stretching his back. "All that work I put into bringing his ungrateful aft back into the world of the living, and the fragger's already shooting his mouth off."

"I'd be shootin' something else if you hadn't forgotten to oil it," Ironhide growled, optics glittering with amusement. "Mia, you're tearin' up all over my armor."

"Shut up," she whimpered, pounding one fist against his chestplates. "I was _worried about you_, you inconsiderate--"

"Shh," Ironhide soothed softly, turning his head to the side to brush his mouthplates lovingly across her cheek. "Shh, love. I know."

Optimus beamed when the old weapons specialist looked over at him, gripping Ironhide's arm tightly. "Welcome back, Ironhide. You--" Prime broke off suddenly, wiping hurriedly at his optics. "You fragger. You had us worried."

"So I've heard," Ironhide snorted, amused. "Nice to see you haven't gotten any smarter. Where's Elita?"

"Here," she said, but her voice broke slightly. Clearing her vocalizer, she stepped up at Optimus's side. "Right here, Ironhide."

He focused both optics on her, locking her in his ethereal blue gaze. "…Nah," he said after a moment, shaking his head. "Not you. Couldn't have been."

"What wasn't me?" she inquired, confused, but he shuttered his optics.

"Not now. Later. We'll talk later. What's been going on?"

"Prowl, the twins, and Jetfire were attacked," Optimus said quietly, and Ironhide's optics immediately opened, wide with surprise. "Ratchet and First Aid are going to go tend to them soon."

"Same attacker?"

"We believe so."

Ironhide frowned, leaning back against the headrest. "If Prowl's out, then I guess it can't wait." He turned his head to the side, once again focusing on the femme commander. "Elita, whatever attacked me had your face."

"…W…What?" she stammered out, mouthplates nearly going slack with shock. Optimus gripped her hand on instinct, optics widening.

"It was a femme. Looked just like you," Ironhide said firmly, nodding faintly. "Now that I think about, it had darker armor, but I definitely thought it was you for an astrosecond or two. Didn't even think to shoot until the thing was on me." He frowned, struggling to remember the battle. "I think…right before I passed out, it said your name. I think it was trying to find you."

Elita felt her knees buckle; Optimus immediately wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to his physique and hushing her softly.

"…How?" Chromia asked in a near whisper, deeply disturbed. "'Hide…how could it possibly know Elita?"

"She," Ironhide corrected, "and I have no idea. But I'm sure she was after you. Or wanted to know where you were, at least."

Optimus tightened his grip on his intended, his free hand curling into a fist. Panic was simmering in his CPU, threatening to engulf his spark, but his vorns as commander managed to quell the fear. Something was after Elita. Someone wanted to find _his_ Elita, possibly wanted to _hurt_ her.

"Ironhide," he said softly, working to keep his voice from shaking, "as soon as Prowl is cured, we'll move his berth into your room, and I want you to tell him everything you remember. All of it. Every byte of information is crucial, and we need to start formulating a strategy immediately."

Ironhide saluted with difficulty, locking his gaze with Optimus's for a moment before relaxing against the berth, turning his head and his attention to Chromia. Optimus acknowledged the dismissal, nudging Elita gently and leading her from the room. Ratchet and First Aid rushed past them, heading off for Jetfire's ward, and Starscream followed soon after.

"Are you alright?" Optimus asked softly, turning and placing his hands on Elita's upper arms. "Elita?"

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice sounded horribly small. Optimus placed a hand on her cheek, lifting her face until their gazes met.

"I won't let them near you," he whispered, pulling her closer. "Elita--I _will_ protect you. You don't have to be afraid."

"I'm not," she replied quietly, meeting his gaze steadily. "And I want you to protect _yourself_ before you worry about me."

He shook his head vaguely, leaning down his head to rest his foreplate against hers. "Beloved…"

"Shh," she whispered, lifting a hand to trail her fingertips down his mask. "Optimus…"

The mask came away beneath her hand, and he leaned in to kiss her tenderly, pulling her flush up against his frame. They melted into one another's affections, listening to the sweet siren call of the other's spark. Elita shuttered her optics and held him closer, softly kissing his warm mouth and wondering how, _how_, she'd gone so long in Megatron's arms and not Optimus's.

"Jetfire will be waking up soon, love," she murmured, torturously pulling her lips from his. "You'll want to be there."

Optimus gazed down at her for a moment before placing a hand on the back of her helm, pulling her forward and tucking her face into the space between his neck and shoulder, his other arm winding around her waist.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice slightly ragged. "It's because of you, sweetspark."

He shuttered his optics briefly, feeling his spark ache at the endearment he'd just uttered. Some part of him moaned out in grief for Aerith, but he felt consumed with love for the femme now in his arms. Finally, something began to click. Bits and pieces of his spark began to slide towards acceptance. He grieved for Aerith even as he adored Elita. Those feelings, those two very special sparks, could co-exist within his. Aerith was there, Elita was here, and that was all there was to it.

Relaxing against Elita's warm frame, Optimus let Aerith go. Let her go, and though it pained his spark, he could feel the soothing beginnings of closure.

Unforunately, closure was a little early in coming, but of course he couldn't possibly have known that.

* * *

"…_Mama?"_

_The youngling stirred lightly, tilting his head, weak little wings fluttering gently against the covering of his berth. "…Mama?"_

_The femme reached out, caressing her son's helm with one hand, smiling sadly when he purred, nuzzling her palm. _

"_I'm sorry to wake you, brightspark," she murmured, tracing his noseplate with one finger. His optics unshuttered, and he blinked up at her drowsily. "I've been thinking."_

"_About what, Mama?" he asked, rubbing his optics with tiny fists. _

"…_Your father. And your sister. All of us."_

"_Oh."_

_The femme shuttered her optics briefly before looking back down on the sleepy youngling. "I'm afraid, brightspark. Your father isn't the same. He hasn't been for some time."_

"_Mama?"_

_He shifted uncomfortably. Something was different about her tonight. Her spark felt…distant. And her optics seemed a little darker. And something behind them was…stirring._

"_Mama?" he repeated uncertainly, a note of begging in his voice._

"_I've tried to protect you," she whispered, and only then did he take notice of the pillow on her lap. "I've tried so hard. But I think it's time for us to leave."_

"_And go where?" he whispered, blinking up at her, forgetting about how tired he was. "Where are we gonna go, Mama? Where's…where's Cloud?"_

"_Your sister is safe," she assured him softly, patting his helm. "I've already sent her away. We're all going to live somewhere wonderful, just the three of us."_

"_What about Papa?"_

"_He'll join us when his spark isn't so angry anymore. Don't worry. We're all going to be safe. I love you very much."_

_She got to her feet then, but the youngling didn't dare move. Why was he so afraid? This was his mother, after all. Yet a terror was stirring in his spark, eating him up on the inside. He felt that he ought to run, but he felt frozen. _

"_Mama?" he whimpered, tears threatening upon his optics. "Mama…"_

"_I'm sorry," she said softly, lifting the pillow. "I'm so sorry. But we're going to be safe now."_

"_Mama!"_

"_I'm sorry. But I…I love you, Jetfire."_

"_Papa!" the youngling cried, moving away, and had no time to wonder why he suddenly cried out for his father. For his mother was upon him then, holding him down, and the pillow covered his face._

"_Papa! __**Papa**__!"_

_Gone…he couldn't breathe, all of the air was gone! He tried to scream, but his vocalizers made no sound. He felt hot…and his mother was so __**heavy**__…_

_The world began to go dark, and then--_

"Jetfire?"

The world plunged down upon him the moment his optics came online. Ratchet started when Jetfire's vitals spiked violently, uttering soft assurances as he tried to calm his patient down.

"Jetfire, it's okay--you're in the medical bay," Optimus Prime said hurriedly, moving forward and placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Jetfire, it's me, calm _down_!"

The shuttle froze, optics darting around the room, then up at his startled companions' faces. His processor realized it had been a memory replay before his spark did. _Oh_.

Jetfire abruptly fell back against the cushions, shuttering his optics tightly and covering his face with his hands. Okay. Time to calm down now.

"Jetfire?" Hotshot whispered, optics wide with terror. "Ratchet--what's wrong with him?"

The medic hushed him quickly, watching his patient closely. "Jetfire?"

"…Who was it?"

"What?" Optimus asked, leaning in. "Jet…"

"Who figured out my datapad?"

"Me," Elita said nervously, stepping closer.

Jetfire lifted one hand slowly but said nothing. Elita, after a few moments of hesitation, cautiously moved in and touched her palm to his.

Nearly every bot in the room nearly died of a spark attack when Jetfire sat up suddenly, throwing both arms around the femme and pulling her into a tight hug.

"_**Victory is mine!**_ Elita, you are _amazing!_ You _rock!_ Primus, femme, you are the greatest thing _ever_!!!"

"Uh…thanks?" Elita said blankly, completely bewildered.

They were all startled by a loud _thud_; Optimus turned and barked out a laugh upon seeing that Hotshot had fainted. "Uh, First Aid…"

"On it," the little mech said briskly, moving forward to revive the dazed captain.

"Stupid recruit," Jetfire snorted. "'Kay, Ratch--I feel like I'm about to pass out."

"You sat up too fast," Ratchet grunted, prying his patient from the struggling femme commander and forcing Jetfire to lie back down. "You've only got half the standard amount of energon in you, you've got to rest."

"Fine, sure. Hey, Optimus!"

"Hey yourself," Prime sighed, sitting down on the side of the berth and grinning weakly at his best friend. "I'm going to fragging murder you."

"Aw, really? Let me recuperate first so it's at least a little fun," Jetfire suggested, patting Optimus's arm. "How ya doing, big guy?"

"Better, now that you're online. Much better." Optimus smiled, his optics warm as he placed a hand on Jetfire's helm. "I missed you."

"Of course you did," his best friend replied, grinning. "But don't say that kind of stuff around Elita, she'll find out about our forbidden relationship."

"…Never mind. Forget everything I just said. I liked it without you around. Much more quiet."

"You know, denial is one of the first stages of love, or so they say."

"Remind me why we cured him again?"

"Because you'd be fragged without me and you know it! Elita!" Jetfire turned his attention towards the startled femme, who'd been helping First Aid drag a dizzy Hotshot to his feet. "Primus, femme, how long have you secretly been a genius?"

"It's never been a secret, you're just oblivious," Optimus muttered, kneading his foreplate with his knuckles.

"Jetfire, you need a lesson in organization," Elita chided teasingly, sitting down at her disgruntled lover's side. "That datapad of yours was near impossible to make any sense of."

"Well, I was kind of in a hurry," Jetfire grumped. "And it's not like I was _expecting_ some insane mutant to come and near kill me."

"Mutant?" Optimus said, lifting his head to stare at his best friend.

"Yeah. Dude, Optimus, this chick had _pincers_. I'm not even kidding. I don't think even the mighty _you_ could berth that one. Oh, not that he'd try," Jetfire added, looking pointedly at Elita. "He's been ga-ga over you for a vorn now, and in any case she's _way_ out of his league--"

"Wait, _pincers_?" Optimus said faintly.

"That's what I said, bro! They weren't like…like _claws_ or anything, but…that's what she injected me with," Jetfire said, nodding thoughtfully. "And--hey, Starscream! How's it going?"

"He really _is_ oblivious," Starscream groaned, finally stepping out of the corner. "Why can't you just stay dead?"

"Uh, I'm not really feeling the love here. You all missed me and you damn well know it."

"Accept what little love you get with _grace_ and you'll get a lot more," Optimus sighed, rolling his optics. "Ratchet, First Aid, the others…"

"Right away," Ratchet said briskly, gathering up his supplies. "We need to get Prowl briefed, do we not? And then we have a mutant to slag."

* * *

Finder was a little disconcerted by how amazingly _easy_ it was. Haven wasn't like Iacon, of course, but he thought it should have been a little more difficult to get into. Instead, the guards at its huge white gates grinned and waved him through. Finder was a rebel, for Primus's sake! Well, sort of. "Finder" was a rebel, and had been since Sentinel Prime's death, since Sentinel's grieving son had looked into his optics and said "I need you."

Finder had been born that day. It was a mask, of course. A devious alter ego by which he could operate covertly. But it suited him. He'd been a bounty hunter before Sentinel had found him, after all. He'd picked up whatever work came his way, wandering without any true goal or destination. He felt the urge to clean up Cybertron, make it safer for sparks purer than his.

Sentinel had found value in that. "You can fight," he'd said simply. "You've been fighting all your life. Come teach my mechs how to do the same."

The mech Finder had once been had acquiesced. Mostly because he didn't have anything better to do. Work had been slow lately.

And that was how he'd met Optimus.

He was never going to forget it. Never going to forget the sight of the eager youngling moving towards him, then abruptly tripping over nothing and falling flat on his faceplate. It had been both sad and comical, watching the little thing pushing himself back to his overlarge feet, disoriented by his fall. Yet still so eager to perform, to please and impress his father and superiors.

The mech Finder had been began to breathe then, for the first time. Life had a clarity, suddenly. Ultra Magnus taught Optimus how to kill with his bare hands. Ironhide taught him how to shoot a gun. "Finder" taught Optimus the way of the sword, taught him that the purpose of a sword was to protect life rather than take it.

"Your ancestors fought all of their battles with these," he would tell Optimus seriously. "Not with guns. Battles of the sword are battles of honor; battles with the gun are battles of blood. There's a difference."

And Optimus had learned, at an astonishing rate. He'd practiced and worked at it until the sword was an extension of his being, a tool to protect everything that was important to him.

"Finder" had decided to stay. Iacon was an exciting place. There were plenty of criminals in the streets, so he wasn't going to get bored. Besides, Optimus was there, and that was as good a reason as any to stick around.

He'd become a tactician. Easily, really. He understood more about combat than any other mech on base. He'd been there--been on that thin line between life and death, light and the abyss. He understood the line of thinking a mech's mind took when he teetered there, so "Finder" understood how to use it to his own advantage. He knew how bots responded to stress, desperation, victory, and pride, and they were all elements that played into any battle. And it was this understanding that led him to become the planet's greatest tactician.

And then it had shattered. Sentinel Prime had died defending Iacon from the rebels, died defending his adopted son. And Optimus had become Prime, had been forced to mature into a fully grown mech within the span of a few orns. It had been then that he'd looked up into his teacher's optics and said "I need you."

Finder had been born. He pushed away his proud past as Sentinel's tactician and Optimus's mentor and became a rebel, just another angry spark who didn't think the world was right. He became of use to Bloodlust. Finder had a mission, and it became all he cared about.

But it didn't stop the longing in his spark. He wasn't Finder. He was a Cybertronian warrior, a protector of the peace, the teacher to Optimus Prime. That knowledge of who he truly was kept him sane, even in Bloodlust's crazed presence.

Haven had been easy to get into, but getting into the base itself was almost easier. He simply stated that he had come on Optimus Prime's behalf, and the gate guards had let him in, no questions asked. Finder hadn't lied, but it would have been easy to. If he ever made it back to Iacon, he was going to lecture Prime about not making sure that the Neutral city was fortified.

His only dilemma was actually meeting with a higher-up. The recipient in the main foyer informed him that Eclipse, the commander, wasn't on base, and neither was her second in command. The Neutrals' own tactician was running the show, and he wasn't taking visitors.

Finder instead asked where he could deliver information about the rebel movement, and the desk femme directed him to the fourth floor. He stepped onto the lift obediently, scrunched into a corner, surrounded by a good ten other mechs and femmes, but made no move to get off when the fourth floor greeted them. He continued on his way up, confident that, if he knew Eclipse's tactician half as well as he thought he did, the fledgling would reside at the top.

"Authorized personnel only," the guard grunted at him, shuffling over to block Finder's path when the mock-rebel approached the wide door to the commander's office.

"I'm an old friend," Finder said briskly, looking down at the mech.

"Designation?" the guard demanded stiffly. Finder scowled; clearly intimidation wasn't going to get him anywhere.

"Just tell him that a bounty hunter needs to call in a favor," Finder said coolly, and after a few moments of suspicious glaring the mech acquiesced. A look of surprise crossed his faceplates as he listened to the tactician's reply, and he meekly stepped aside, granting Finder passage.

The office was certainly a little tidier than Finder remembered. It seemed that Shinkon had taken advantage of his commander's absence and had been cleaning up. The smaller mech was standing when Finder entered the room, and his blue optics widened upon seeing the "rebel".

"Primus," Shinkon breathed, shakily pressing the door release from his desk. "It really is you! I thought…we _all_ thought you'd died! There was a funeral service and everything! _How_?"

"It was necessary," Finder replied gruffly. "Optimus sent me off on a covert mission. I faked my death."

Shinkon nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his optics. "Of course. They said you'd died in an explosion; of course there wouldn't be a body. Primus…" He sank shakily into his chair, blinking his optics several times as if to make sure he wasn't in recharge. "What's going on?"

"I've been operating as Bloodlust's tactician under the name Finder," the larger mech replied calmly, taking a seat opposite Shinkon. "He's killed Optimus."

Shinkon's faceplates went blank, mouthplates going slack with shock. "Wh…What? But…that can't be…surely Eclipse would have called and…"

"Eclipse? She's in Iacon?" Finder inquired, surprised.

"Y-Yes. She left some time ago to visit her brothers. If Optimus had died, she would have contacted me, I'm sure of it," Shinkon murmured, lacing his fingers on the desk. "From whom did you receive information of Optimus's death?"

"Bloodlust," Finder replied, the beginnings of doubt--and hope--creeping into his processor. Not the most reliable source, to be sure…

"Did Bloodlust actually _see_ Optimus die?"

"Probably not," Finder admitted somewhat sheepishly. "Optimus blew half of Bloodlust's body off, they probably got him out of there before confirming that Optimus had died. But Optimus was hurt bad, Bloodlust has been bragging for nearly an orn now."

"Optimus has one of the best medics on the planet under his command, I'm sure they found a way to save him," Shinkon stated matter-of-factly. "That being said, what would you like for me to do?"

Finder smirked. "Bloodlust needs someone to rebuild his frame. You feeling up to it?"

Shinkon stared at him for a moment, then a grin crossed his faceplates. "Oh. _Oh_. Sabotage?"

"Exactly."

"Sabotage in, say, the form of uranium infusions in his new body?"

"If you're feeling generous."

"Oh, I am," Shinkon said, snickering. "Finder, you know that I am a very giving mech…"

* * *

"Jetfire and the others have woken up. Ratchet doesn't think there will be any complications. They'll all recover."

"That's…good. For Optimus."

"Yes. Bad for us." Megatron sighed, sinking down on the edge of his berth. "This whole operation would be much simpler if he were…broken. But it can't be help. We'll succeed nonetheless."

"And when it's over…I'll have Optimus back?"

"If all goes well. I'll take Elita, and things will be back to normal. Relatively speaking."

"But Optimus isn't going to be happy."

Megatron turned his head, gazing at the small mech lying on his berth. "He's not going to be happy until he has you back. I told you he's been grieving for you all this time. Elita is just…a distraction from that pain."

"How do you know?" Aero asked, turning his luminous gaze on Megatron. "How can you be so sure he's not really in love with her?"

"He's not," Megatron said confidently. He lied as well to Aero as he had to Optimus. "I know my brother. He's confused now. His processor is clouded by grief. He's just trying to make the pain stop. You'll see."

"But we're sparkmates. Aren't you going to miss me?"

"Of course I am," Megatron assured "him" softly, reaching down to run the tips of his fingers down Aero's faceplates. "I'll miss you even more when you're back in a femme frame. You're going to be so beautiful. But your spark belongs with Optimus, doesn't it?"

"Mm. Yes. I love him."

"I know you do," Megatron whispered. "Just as I love Elita. You see? This is the natural order of things. You with Optimus, me with Elita. That's the way it's meant to be."

"Alpha Trion doesn't seem to think so."

"Alpha Trion is a fool," Megatron replied coolly. "Just like the rest of them. Don't let them taint your resolve, Aerith. You've got to stay strong if you want to make it back to Optimus."

Aero smiled vaguely. "I've missed him. So much. Bumblebee too. We could be a family again…"

"Yes. You could." Megatron's optics softened as he watched the femme-turned-mech begin to drift into recharge. "Rest now, Aerith. You're going to need all of your strength."

He waited until she had drifted off before standing up, opening the door at the far end of his quarters and stepping onto the balcony overlooking the sleeping city below. Yes. Everything was going to plan, just as he had known it would. He could still feel that bubble of anxiety threatening to well up within his spark, but he kept it quelled beneath his steadily growing confidence.

Megatron couldn't say for sure who was authorizing the attacks on Optimus's officers, but it was convenient. Optimus was distracted, becoming increasingly neglectful of Elita between injuries and wounded friends. The problem was presenting itself now; the victims were recovering and Optimus had nearly healed, so there would be nothing stopping him from solidifying his relationship with Megatron's former sparkmate. Megatron couldn't help but feel that maybe it was time to provide another "distraction." Perhaps he ought to contact Bloodlust…

Bloodlust. It made Megatron sick to think that such a moron had managed to take control of the rebel forces. Most of the rebels were weak, fools seduced by notions of a higher existence and a change in rule. Nonsense. Cybertron had been ruled by five holders of the Matrix. Megatron himself was a son of Sentinel Prime; by fate's rules, he was perfectly suitable to take control of the planet.

But the High Council was bothersome. He couldn't understand why his brother wouldn't agree to abolish them. Optimus was Prime; he had the authority to crush any bot on the face of the planet under one thumb if he so wished. The problem was that he _didn't_; Optimus had sworn himself to the battlefield. He didn't _trust _himself with power, and though that trait had served Megatron at first, it was increasingly becoming a hindrance.

Megatron may have been the supreme Protectorate, but Cybertron's people trusted Optimus rather than him. Optimus was their figurehead, their leader, their king. Megatron was little more than a high-standing politician, while Optimus was the idol of a race. A near _god_, as were all the Primes before him. Megatron needed Optimus for that reason, but he knew he couldn't use his brother as a puppet. Not that he _wouldn't_, but Optimus was simply too intelligent to be used.

The Protectorate gave a frustrated sigh, cradling his chin in his palm as he gazed out at Iacon. He loved this planet. Truly, he did. But the order of the world had become tiresome and mundane. Here Cybertron sat, an oasis in the middle of a war-torn galaxy. Why not expand? Why not stretch their influence to the far reaches of the stars? Cybertron was probably the greatest civilization within light-years, why not try and rule that which was below them?

Yet Optimus was in the way. Always in the way. Megatron loved his brother dearly, but he was so ridden with faults! How could any being be so lonely and yet so adored at the same time? He was trusted by the people and charismatic enough to sway anyone to his side, yet he insisted upon being the one to go headfirst into any battle!

He was a fool.

And hardly deserving of Elita One's affections. She herself was brilliant, strong, independent…why did she feel so attracted to Megatron's shy, sensitive elder brother rather than Megatron himself?

Optimus was better suited to a femme like Aerith. A little femme who would dote on him and sing his praises, who would follow his every order without question, hang onto his every word. And surely a femme such as Elita needed a strong mech who would assert his dominance over her, give her a challenge and something to pursue. Was that not what every femme wanted?

Megatron clenched one hand into a fist. Wrong. Everything was wrong! The wrong sparks becoming helplessly entangled with one another--was he the only one who could see sense?!

No. He had to stop the madness. He was the only one who could. He would ignore the pull of Aerith's spark and give her back to Optimus. He would take Elita, make her _his_, and then he would assert himself as Cybertron's rightful leader. He had to make things right again.

And he was the only one who could.

* * *

"Are you sure this is okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be okay?"

"Someone might walk in…"

"The only one who would even consider using this washroom is Megatron, and he's got his own. It's ideal."

"I'd still prefer your quarters."

"Uh, yes, but my quarters don't contain a tub five times my size, do they?"

"True," Elita One acquiesced, sitting down on the edge of the energon pool and slipping her legs in. "It's hotter than I expected."

"You'll get used to it," Optimus encouraged, holding his hands out to her. With her silent permission he gripped her around the waist and pulled her into the tub, holding her close to his physique as he sank into the pool.

Elita could feel her faceplates growing hot, and she was quite sure it had nothing to do with the tempterature of the pool. It had been a while since she'd ever been this intimate with a male, especially one like Optimus. His presence was nearly overpowering; she could hear every rev and whine of his engine as he got them situated, and she could just _feel_ the immense power of his spark.

"Comfortable?" Optimus whispered, large arms gently wrapping around her smaller frame. She nodded mutely, wondering why her vocalizer was being so quiet.

Optimus rumbled quietly as he settled down, resting his helm against hers and shuttering his optics contentedly. A vorn ago, he'd have given anything to be so close to her. It blew his mind to think that the physical intimacy was completely willing. He hadn't had to beg her or use sparkling-like tactics to get his way. Elita was curled up on his lap, touching him, holding him, because she _wanted _to. It made his spark swell to the point of pain to think that she really did love him.

"Elita," he breathed softly, loving the sound of her name.

"Optimus?"

"Mm?"

"…Don't move for a second."

He unshuttered his optics, blinking down at her. Elita shifted, climbing onto her knees in his lap, so her head was above his own. She seemed hesitant at first in touching him, cautiously fingering his audios. His optics shuttered, and a low moan came up from his vocalizer at her touch. She grasped his helm gently, spreading her fingers across the dark blue armor, before lowering her lips to his.

In the back of his mind he wondered how erotic the whole scene must look. The two of them together in the hot bath, she on top of him, he with his head leant back and his hands sliding up the smooth expanse of her thighs, emerging from the hot liquid to caress her hips and waist.

And both of them completely lost, melting into their kisses, desperately devouring the other's warm mouth. Every emotion in his spark--longing, desire, lust, love, passion--became as one, until his spark was crying for hers, wanting an outlet for all that it felt. He braced his hands on the side of the pool, arching his chest up into hers, moaning wantonly into her sweet mouth. Primus. Was this was love was really like? Far from just being the sweet tender nothings exchanged in the hall or between shifts, was it also the torturous want, the all-consuming desire, the fiery, passionate inferno? If what he felt for Elita was truly love, in its purest and most uninhibited form, then his feelings for Aerith had been but a school mech crush…

The dream ended when he heard the soft whine of his transformation system, and Elita's soft gasp of surprise. She pulled away from him, and he blinked open his optics. Elita's armor had been cast in a bright blue light, and her face was stricken--and afraid. He looked down and groaned in horror.

His chestplates had parted of their own accord, completely exposing his spark to her. Elita looked alarmed and confused, unsure of his intentions; was it an accident, or was Optimus trying to push her into bonding?

Horrified and humiliated, Optimus hurriedly closed his chestplates, lowering his optics as his spark was hid from view once more. He cursed himself internally; what was Elita going to think now? He'd never dream of pushing her into bonding with him, especially after what she had gone through with Megatron--and why the frag was he thinking all of this? He needed to tell her!

"I'm sorry," he began, a little more loudly than he'd meant to, but she shook her head slowly.

"Don't be."

"No, Elita, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to pressure you, I swear, I was just--thinking, and…I-I just lost control…"

Elita frowned and lowered her optics, and Optimus suddenly felt very inclined to cry.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, voice reduced to a weak whisper. "I never meant to. I just…I've loved you for so, so long, and I was just so happy…"

"Optimus."

"Yes?"

"I do intend to bond with you. Someday. If you'll have me." Elita sighed, lifting his chin to capture his gaze. "Look at me. Listen to me. I love you with all my spark. But it's not right. Not yet. We're both so new to this." She smiled sadly, softly caressing his face. "Neither of us understands what it means, you know? A bond is permanent; we have to understand what we're doing when we do it. Megatron and I didn't understand that, and look what happened--all three of us wound up spark-broken."

"You're saying we're not ready," Optimus said sadly, dejected.

"We're young, Optimus. Too young. Eternity is still a long ways off. We need to think."

"I love you," Optimus mumbled, lowering his optics.

"Optimus, aren't you listening?" she whispered, exasperated, pulling his face closer to hers. "A spark is something sacred. A _bond_ is sacred. It's a complete sharing of existence, a total unity of two completely different beings. Chromia says it transcends love altogether, sometimes."

Optimus shuttered his optics. He didn't want to hear this. Not from her. He wanted her to feel it just as strongly as he did. He wanted this so _badly_. He wanted to be hers, and he wanted her to be his. He wanted to be her other half, wanted to _experience_ her. She was his everything, he would give her the universe if he could!

"We're going to grow, beloved," Elita murmured, softly tracing the contours of his handsome face with her fingertips. "We're going to become so much wiser than we are now, so much stronger. We're practically children compared to what we could be. Let's bond _then_, Optimus. Let's complete one another then, when we're both the greatest we can possibly be."

"You're rejecting me," Optimus said helplessly, his spark twisting with anguish.

"No, not at all," she replied sharply, taking his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. "I'm asking you to wait for me, Optimus. I'm not going to leave you. I'm asking if you're willling to _wait_."

He gazed back at her, trying to quell the desire burning within him. Maybe…she was right. Maybe all he felt now was a helpless adolescent lust for the femme he was meant to be with. Thousands of vorns from now, he'd be a fully fledged adult, a seasoned warrior and commander. He'd have spent a part of a lifetime with her instead of just a vorn. And who knew how he'd feel then? Maybe they'd grow apart; maybe they'd be so close, so strong, that a sparkbond would be mere justification of what was already there.

No. She was right. He wanted to _know_ Elita, without Megatron or Aerith or anyone else interfering. Wanted to know and understand her for all that she was, without the hindrance of his young emotions and raw experience.

"I'll wait," he agreed softly, touching her face. "I'll wait, Elita. Forever if I have to.

"Forever."

* * *

**This chapter was over twenty pages long originally, so I hacked some of it off...don't worry, that bit will be in the chapter 22. And hey, you pootheads, review a little! XD I don't put all of this fluffy OptXLita stuff for my own enjoyment, ya know...:D**

**(Sorry, Litahatchee--didn't do so hot on the whole 'mature' thing this chapter. Next one, I promise! XD)**

**I listened to Thriller by Michael Jackson while I was editing this--that is a magnificent song. I love the oldies! X3**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_Plenoptic_

**Whoot! Chapter devoted mostly to Opt and Lita lovin' X3 Yay, right?**

* * *

_**Six deca-cycles later…**_

_**Iacon**_

_**First passing of first satellite**_

_Time has passed as only time can._

_Stability was regained within Iacon. The mysterious attacks on Optimus Prime's officers came to a close, and the treatment for the strange acid was documented thoroughly and distributed across the planet. _

_Mysteriously, the rebels fell into almost absolute silence. Indeed, it almost seemed as if Bloodlust had really died, and a tentative peace began to settle over the planet. _

_Cybertronian relations with near planets were soothed and bettered by Megatron, and several treaties were signed, largely with Optimus's help. He was, of course, assisted by Elita One, who has become a close confidante and has begun to help him ease into Cybertron's political arena._

_All seemed well. I almost stalled my plan to revive the ancients, until a mech calling himself Finder sought me out and delivered to me some very disturbing news._

_And it was then that the rumors began to fly. Whispers of an immense black mech who keeps his face hidden behind a mask--who is apparently the look-alike of Optimus Prime. The story was not picked up by the media, and I have no way of knowing if Optimus's officers investigated the matter. The story that the media __**did**__ cover involved a small outpost full of corpses, all completely drained of energon. Whether the two incidences are linked, I have no way of confirming._

_I instead focus my attention on matters I __**can**__ control. Optimus and Elita are developing their relationship beautifully; one is scarcely seen without the other, and rarely are they not smiling together. While I would be perfectly content to sit in the background and watch the soft nirvana that is young love, I do have more pressing matters to attend to. _

_With rumors of strange villains creeping about, I once again take up my project of reviving Optimus's predecessors. Nova cooperates with me, though with some reluctance. We have already gained clearance from Primus, after a long, harrowing journey to the Corespark. I leave the matter of claiming the ancients' bodies to Nova while I begin the lab for the Resurrection…_

_A side note, for my own memory, as my processor is not completely dependable these orns: a suspicious report about a mech named Bludgeon and a project called "Genesis" reached the audios of one of my informants. I must plan to look into this matter once Primon and company are watching over Optimus in my place._

_A second note: Elita's sparkday is coming up. Must find a way to communicate my congradulations._

_--The diary of Alpha Trion--_

* * *

"Optimus? Exciting though this is, I can't help but be a little…nervous."

"Why's that?"

"Oh, I don't know…mostly because I'm blindfolded and in the backseat of a shuttle piloted by you. And only you. Without any directions."

"Femme, I know where I'm going. Relax."

"I might be able to relax a bit better if you were back here with me," Elita One purred out, and Optimus had to put a lot of effort into suppressing a shudder. The thought of having Elita blindfolded and trapped beneath him was appealing, but of course there was the matter of steering. Hm.

"We'll be at our destination shortly," he replied, amusement creeping into his voice. "And then you won't be able to get me off of you."

Elita grinned, no matter if Optimus could see it or not. The mech could be quite the kink when he wanted to be.

"We're not going to some strange location for a High Council meeting, are we?" she questioned suspiciously.

"If we were, I wouldn't have had Prowl take us off the work roster for the next orn," Prime replied cheekily, and Elita's grin widened. Oh goody. An entire orn with the mech all to herself.

Not that he'd neglected her at all. She'd been with him for six deca-cycles, and it had been…completely indescribable. Optimus was attentive, passionate, and utterly adoring; he'd never denied her anything, never hurt her in any way, even when she took all of her frustration out on him, whether he deserved it or not. She had half a mind to frag the waiting and bond her spark to his, but they'd agreed that they had to be able to function as a unit, as if a sparkbond existed, before finally establishing their bond.

The beginnings were there, of course--she could feel the gentle pull of his spark when they were close or intimate. They were imprinting on one another, their sparks slowly learning about the other as they grew closer.

And Primus, she was _happy_. Giddy, almost. She'd never felt so loved, so appreciated, so necessary in the big wide universe. Even if every other mech and femme on the planet deserted her, she took all comfort in the fact that Optimus would always want her.

Grinning, she reached out in front of her, blindly groping about until her hands found Optimus. Scooting to the end of the seat, she wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling her helm against his.

"Hey."

"Lita?"

"I love you."

She felt the shuttle slow to a stop, and Optimus turned around in her embrace. He brushed his mouthplates softly over hers before kissing her noseplates.

"I love you too. Of course. Now let me drive, femme."

Elita beamed and settled back in her seat, comforted by the rumble of his engine as well as the shuttle's. She dozed in and out over the next few breems, wishing she could just take a peep at the landscape rushing by so she could at least begin to guess where the mech was taking her.

Nearly a half joor had passed when the shuttle finally slowed to a stop again. Optimus slid out of the front seat and opened up her door, only to find the femme sound asleep in the seat. Smiling, he reached in and lifted her out with ease, cradling her in his arms as he closed the door with a foot.

He didn't bother to wake her; she'd been overworked lately and needed the rest. The sea lapped softly against the shore nearby, the cool acid eating through the coast, only to have more debris cascade down from the adjacent cliff face. Optimus took a moment to enjoy the view, his intakes hissing softly as they adjusted to the nonpolluted atmosphere.

Mindful of the recharging femme in his arms, Optimus strode up the short pathway to the small domicile, cozily situated on the knoll covering the cliff. The landscape had been shaped into rolling "hills" and deep crevasses by eons of brutal acid rain; it was the most diverse topography Cybertron had to offer, and Optimus and Megatron had capitalized on it nearly three vorns ago.

The housing unit itself was as small on the inside as it appeared on the outside, but it had a cozy, comforting quality about it that reminded all who entered of it of sparklinghood, of happier times. Optimus navigated its few rooms with ease, finally laying his femme on the large recharge berth in what had been designated as his room (he'd won the right to the larger room in a shooting contest with Megatron when they'd first purchased the land).

Prime paused a moment before leaving the room, watching Elita recharge. He got the vague notion that Aerith might have liked it here, but the thought left no residual ache in his spark. It was just a thought, just a memory. His spark sighed softly in recognition, but the biting grief he so rarely felt stayed at bay. Instead, his processor jumped straight to the next thought--the hope that Elita was going to like it, as well.

Elita awoke some time later, plagued by the usual drowsy heaviness that greets one who sleeps in the middle of the day. Sitting up with some difficulty, she blinked around at the room in a sort of hazy confusion. Where was she? Had Optimus been caught driving over the speed limit and gotten them both thrown into some small-town brig as a result? Or--

A sudden thought occurred to her. All those deca-cycles ago, right before they attacked the rebel base, as she and Optimus stood together while Starscream and Jetfire readied the explosives…the breem they'd taken alone, in the hopes of conveying some fraction of the new love fluttering in their sparks. Hadn't he expressed that he wanted to get away with her? Hadn't he mentioned a domicile by the sea…?

"Elita?"

She turned around at the sound of his voice, almost snorting at the sight of him, his arms full of cargo cases. "What on Cybertron are you lugging around, Optimus?"

"Oh. Well, you know. Megatron and I haven't actually stayed here, so I thought it would be a good idea to bring some thermal blankets and what not." He wriggled through the doorway with some difficulty, dumping the cases onto the floor before turning to her. "Do you like it?"

"I've only seen this one room, silly. Thank you for removing the blindfold, by the way."

"You are most welcome. Would you like to explore?"

He offered her his hand, and together they left the room, peeking into all the little rooms in the domicile, commenting about just how small the place really was; Elita capitalized on the opportunity to tease her mech about his massive size, while he snarkily commented on her petite frame. That one got him a firm femme fist to the shoulder, but it was worth it.

The true majesty of it all was in the sea. The only body of fluid Elita had ever seen was the Smelting Pool, and a huge container filled with yellowing acid and slowly decaying criminals hadn't been at all appealing.

The Acidic Sea was something entirely different. The liquid was nearly clear, reflecting the greens and blues of the stars above them. Optimus was like an entire holocube of information, rattling off every fact and figure that came to the processor as they strolled along the shore.

"It ought to be pretty basic this time of the vorn," he remarked, one arm wrapped comfortably around her waist as they walked. "Very neutral. We might actually be able to wade in it if we wanted, look how little damage it's doing to the shore, and the shore plating itself is composed of much weaker alloys than our armor…"

"If I wanted a walking library, I'd have brought Perceptor along," Elita remarked, nudging him to let him know she was having a go at him.

"But Perceptor doesn't have my aft," he retorted, and she laughed, touching the large hand resting on her hip.

"Too true. Nor does he know how to treat a femme once he's got her all alone for an orn," she added smartly, and Optimus's arm tightened around her, his engine revving deeply.

"Care to go back to the domicile?" he whispered roughly, his hand sliding downwards toward her thigh.

She shivered lightly, pressing closer to his suddenly hot frame. Optimus had always adored her legs, always stroked and lavished attention on her calves and thighs before making love to her. The mech knew and understood her body far more completely and intimately than Megatron ever had. Optimus was tender in bed, gentle and loving long before he allowed his own desire to consume him. He always made sure that she was satisfied before taking her for himself. She still hadn't managed to convince him that she took the greatest pleasure in joining with him--not that she really minded having him dote on her, but when her spark and processor were near blind with passion she really, _really_ didn't want to be petted.

"Did you keep that blindfold?" she asked softly, and with a grin he promptly swept her up and into his arms, purring at the feel of her curvaceous frame.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

"…I just saw something."

"…Hunh?"

"Right there," Hotshot said urgently, leaning forward and pressing a finger to the monitor. "Right there! The radar picked something up!"

Jetfire leaned back in his chair, craning his head to view his comrade's monitor. "There's nothing there, Hotshot. How many shifts have you been pulling?"

"This is my first one lately, Jetfire! I'm not tired, I really did see something!"

"Yeah, yeah. Why don't you have Red Alert take over for you and go catch up on some recharge."

"Come on, bro, I'm being serious--"

"So am I! Get outta here, kid, we don't have the manpower to scout out every false alarm," Jetfire snapped, tiredness chipping away at his normally cheery mood. "Optimus and Lita aren't here, we can't pull any big-time operations without their clearance. If you're not perfectly rested and energized then you shouldn't be on the monitors."

"I recharged all day, and I refueled just a breem or two ago," Hotshot growled, optics narrowing, but he turned moodily back to his monitor anyway and didn't bring up the strange apparition again.

* * *

Nemesis Prime ducked low into the shadows, red optics warily watching the radar scanner mounted on the side of the tower. It may have caught him, but as soon as he memorized its scan pattern he'd be able to slip by unnoticed…

"I don't see them," he said quietly, bending his head to speak into his comm link. "I'm not picking up their energy signatures."

"Ridiculous," Sideways scoffed from the other end. "Scan again."

"I've scanned three times. I want Prime dead just as badly as you do," Nemesis growled. "He and his pretty little concubine aren't here."

Sideways was silent for a time before speaking. "Right. Tell Blackarachnia to sneak into the base and rig the main computers to transfer data to our database here. If Prime and Elita One have left base, their computers will record their absense and their location."

"But they're on the lookout for Nia," Nemesis protested. "That last mech she attacked got a good look at her before he lost consciousness."

"Then tell her not to get caught--at least until she completes the rig," Sideways replied.

"But--"

"Tell her to do it or I'll walk into your quarters right now and shoot her myself," Sideways snarled. Nemesis was quiet for a moment, debating internally. Sideways knew that he was bonded to Nia, so he also knew that killing her meant killing Nemesis as well, and they were undeniably still valuable. However, there was no telling to what sick lengths Sideways would go to in order to get what he wanted. He wouldn't kill her, but torture was never out of the question.

"Fine," Nemesis grunted before terminating the link, only to open another with his sparkmate.

"Nia."

"…What?" Blackarachnia mumbled indistinctly. "I was recharging…"

"You need to leave base."

"Hunh?"

"Just leave for awhile. Make sure Sideways sees you. Just go hide out somewhere."

"Why?" she questioned, her voice now sharp and alert.

"Femme, just do as I say."

"You have no right to--"

"Listen!" he snarled suddenly, anger and panic pumping through him. "Either you leave or Sideways destroys us both! He's got us on a leash, Nia, so for now we have to just do whatever the frag he says and keep our jaws shut!"

"…I could just kill him," she said quietly, her voice shaking slightly. "I could walk up behind him right now and fill him with ten times the vemon I'd use on Prime."

"No," Nemesis sighed, shuttering his optics. "To go against Sideways would be to go against Unicron, and it's best that his wratch stays directed at Prime for now. Please just leave the base. Feel free to go attack another outpost if you like, just get yourself away from Sideways until I tell you to do otherwise."

"Alright," she grumped. "You will tell me what's going on, won't you?"

"Later," he assured her. "Trust me, this is for your own good."

"Nnn."

Her link fizzled out, and he heaved a deep sigh of relief. The femme could be impossible sometimes. Closing his own comm link to avoid further interruptions, he crept out from behind the barracks and slinked closer to the main building. Blackarachnia was now a known target, but none of Prime's forces had seen Nemesis yet…

Not that they would tonight. Sideways had provided Nemesis with a very simple tool that temporarily distorted the color of his armor; it was a simple matter to change his black hues to that of vibrant reds and blues…

That being said, the base was almost disturbingly easy to penetrate. The guards at the door grinned and saluted, permitting him access to the inner base. Soldiers wandering by in the halls all greeted him, and a bare few commented on his coming back. Nemesis simply explained that a pressing matter had come up, and that he would be departing again soon. And every moron he passed bought it.

The real problems arose as Nemesis made his way to the upper levels of the base. These were the residential and work areas of Prime's inner circle, the mechs and femmes who knew Prime the best. They certainly wouldn't be so easy to deceive…

"What are you doing here?"

Nemesis turned and almost groaned aloud. Frag. Of all the mechs to run into first, it had to be Prime's brother.

"Well?" The towering, silvery form of Megatron approached his 'brother' confidently, a note of suspicion lingering on his handsome faceplates.

"I forgot something," Nemesis said nonchalantly.

"Hmm." Megatron cocked his head slowly, optics narrowing slightly. "What did you forget?"

_Frag_. "…My gun."

"I thought you promised Lita you wouldn't bring it," Megatron said casually, leaning against the wall, optics trained firmly on his supposed brother's. "This is supposed to be some time away from the fighting, isn't it?"

Nemesis was silent for a moment, processor working at mach speed. What would Prime say…?

"Megatron," Nemesis said softly, keeping his voice steady and confident. "That mutant is still on the loose. We still don't know if Bloodlust is dead or alive. I'm not going to take Elita from base without some knowledge that I'll be able to keep her safe."

"Hmm," Megatron said again, but the suspicion had dissipated from his face. "Makes sense to me. Hurry up and get out of here, you wouldn't want to keep your femme waiting."

"Right," Nemesis agreed, struggling to keep the overwhelming relief from his voice. "I'll see you when we get back."

Megatron clapped him briefly on the shoulder before continuing on his way, leaving Nemesis nearly gasping in his wake.

"This is ridiculous," Nemesis muttered to himself. Frag, he could barely make it through this place under the guise of Optimus Prime; his poor sparkmate wouldn't have stood a chance.

He was gaining confidence as he reached the upper level, where he knew the command center was sure to be located. All he had to do was walk in, look up Prime on the absense roster, and leave…

The command center doors slid open as he approached, and from them emerged a small blue femme and titanic winged mech at her side.

"Hey, Optimus!" the femme said cheerfully.

"Er, hello," Nemesis said blankly. The femme's face stirred his processor; Sideways had mentioned Prime being seen with a femme other than Elita lately…

"I thought you were off with Elita somewhere, bro," the femme quipped, hanging languidly on the other mech's arm.

"Just picking up some things that I forgot," Nemesis replied, but his attention had already been drawn to the other mech. He was a Seeker, nearly as large as Prime himself. His armor was a gleaming white, with splashes of gold across his chest and limbs. Deep emerald optics surveyed Nemesis carefully, but his faceplates betrayed no particular emotion. But it was that lingering gaze that unsettled Nemesis…

"How's it going, Optimus?" the mech questioned suddenly. The femme gaped up at him; Nemesis was in a similar state.

"It's alright," Nemesis replied slowly, forcing out a grin. "How're you?"

"Aw, you know," the mech said, shrugging gently. "Same old, same old. Fragging your little sister out of her processor on a regular basis, you know."

Nemesis barked out a laugh, trying to sound as natural as possible. "Cute. Better watch yourself there."

"…Yeah." The mech's expression had changed entirely; there was something dark lurking behind those optics. The femme was still staring up at him in absolute shock.

"Saber?" she whispered, her wide optics darting nervously over to Nemesis. "Um…"

"S'alright, sweet," he said lightly, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, I left something at my desk--wait here for me?"

"Sure," she said blankly. He kissed her gently before turning and striding back into the command center. Nemesis spared the femme a quick pat on the head before following Saber.

The command center was huge. Nemesis had to tilt his head back to view the ceiling. A sound booth hung from the uppermost level, within which two mechs were darting around, connecting cables and yammering away into comm links. The lower levels were all bustling with activity; every desk or computer station was occupied by a hard-working mech or femme.

He had to only scan the room for a moment before he found it--the main computer terminal was located just a level above him. Pump quickening with excitement, Nemesis quickly made for the staircase, but froze upon hearing footsteps behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, his spark sank upon seeing the winged mech right on his heels.

"You going up?" Saber inquired, arching an optic ridge. Nemesis nodded briefly before turning and continuing his ascent. He'd just ignore the mech…ignore…

But the mech followed Nemesis all the way up to the terminal, watching in silence as Nemesis calmly began browsing through the computer's contents. Absense roster, absense roster…

"Do you know who I am?" Saber suddenly asked quietly, and Nemesis felt his spark clench.

"Of course I do," he replied lightly, glancing sideways at the mech. "Primus only knows how long we've been friends."

Saber gazed at him in silence for a moment before moving closer, reaching out and grabbing Nemesis's wrist. "We're not friends," he said softly, a note of sadness in his voice. "We had a bit of a spat vorns ago; you, _Optimus_, can't even look me in the optics without someone having to hold you back so you don't bash my faceplates in. Not to mention that if he'd heard me make a crack like that about Eclipse, he'd have beaten me into the ground until I fragging shattered."

Nemesis's pump froze. _Oh, __**frag**_. He was doomed. It was over. He'd been under the impression that Optimus had no enemies within base, that he was adored by everyone, had made friends with all of his soldiers. Prime seemed too soft to be hostile towards an ally.

"Now," the other mech said, his voice still low, but it now had an undeniably dangerous edge to it. "My name is Wingsaber. I'm the Neutral co-commander, and you'd do well to remember my face. You have two choices--you can reveal yourself here and let us arrest you, or I can put a plasma round into your head. It's your call."

Nemesis shuttered his optics. His pump was going so fast he could actually hear the energon rushing in his processor. He couldn't fail here. Sideways would know that they'd deceived him, he'd hurt Nia…

But maybe…maybe…did the rest of the base know of Optimus and Wingsaber's enmity? He could draw on that…it was worth a shot…

"Wingsaber, let go," Nemesis said loudly, and a few heads turned to look up at the pair. Wingsaber's optics narrowed.

"You're a fool if you think I won't shoot you," he breathed.

"Try explaining to the others why you shot their beloved commander," Nemesis replied, a smirk crossing his faceplates. He raised his voice once more, "I mean it, enough! I don't have to put up with nonsensical threats from you!"

Wingsaber released a soft hiss, his grip on Nemesis's wrist tightening. Down below, Nemesis recognized the Seeker that Blackarachnia had attacked. He had gotten to his feet and was hurrying towards the upper level, drawing his rifle as he went. A stout yellow mech got up from his seat and followed.

"Jetfire, Hotshot, stop," Wingsaber said urgently, not once looking away from Nemesis's grinning face. "You don't understand, he's not Optimus!"

"The frag are you talking about?" Jetfire growled, training his gun on Wingsaber as he reached the upper level.

"Stand down, Jetfire, let me handle this," Nemesis ordered, then winced when Wingsaber's grip tightened painfully, his fingers digging into the sensitive wiring in his captive's wrist.

"He greeted me in the hall," Wingsaber explained, his words tumbling out in a rush. "He said that we're friends. You know Optimus can't stand me, but this guy treated me like an old buddy."

Jetfire's optics flickered, and he lowered his gun a fraction of an inch.

"He's lying," Nemesis blurted. His processor drew on every bit of information that Sideways had provided him with. He had mentioned that Jetfire and Prime had been childhood friends… "For the love of Primus, Jetfire, you and I have been together since--what, sparklinghood?"

Jetfire's optics darkened. "Yeah," he said quietly. "That's true. We trained under Hunter together, didn't we?"

"There you go," Nemesis said, smiling, relief pumping through him.

Jetfire heaved a sigh, turning on his comm link. "Prowl?" he inquired. "We need you to make an arrest up here." His optics landed on Nemesis before narrowing. "We have an intruder."

Nemesis's spark jumped into his throat. "What?! Jetfire, no--"

"Shut up," Jetfire said flatly.

Prowl and Barricade came up onto the platform mere moments later, both with guns drawn and faces taut with tension.

"What's going on?" Prowl demanded, his optics taking in the scene in a microsecond; Barricade had to survey the situation for a moment longer before turning to Jetfire.

"Someone's pretending to be Optimus," Jetfire growled, nodding his head in Nemesis's direction.

"He looks like Optimus to me," Barricade commented. "Where's your proof?"

"He thought we'd known one another since sparklinghood," Jetfire explained, then his voice lowered dangerously. "And he didn't know that _Scavenger_ trained us."

Prowl nodded briskly, subspacing his energy cuffs and turning on the imposter.

Nemesis moved without thinking about it clearly. He dropped the image distortion on his armor and drew his sword. On instinct he lunged out, plunging the blade through Wingsaber's shoulder, twisting, pulling out, turning on Barricade and Prowl and getting them to the ground with blade and fist--

"Oy!" Jetfire roared, firing off three quick shots. Two missed, but the one that did land did little more than singe Nemesis's thick armor. Nemesis lunged forward, one heavy fist striking the side of Jetfire's helm and sending the mech tumbling to the floor; Hotshot was disposed of in a similar manner, and by then the whole command center was in chaos.

* * *

Optimus Prime gave a low moan, hands tightening into fists on the soft covering of the recharge berth. Elita One was laid out beneath him, her panting mouthplates closing hungrily on his while her hands strayed frantically over the sides of his hard body.

"More," she pled desperately. "Optimus, please…"

Optimus looked down at her, optics drinking in the sight of her flushed faceplates and wild, passionate optics. He placed one hand on her smooth thigh, prompting her to spread her legs wider for him.

"Want to know something…sick and deranged?" he gasped, lowering his mouthplates to hers once more.

"Nnn…"

"I used to lie awake…and…dream of having you…under me…like this," he laughed weakly, pressing his foreplate to hers and shuttering his optics.

"That _is _sick," she breathed, caressing his audios tenderly. "Good thing you don't have to dream anymore…hmm…?"

He laughed weakly, hips moving jerkily against hers. "Elita," he gasped, hand tightening on her thigh. "I…_oh_…I-I'm going to…"

"Frag you, I'm going first," she hissed, arching up into him.

"You're already fragging me," he whispered, then yelped when she suddenly pulled her hips from his. "I was kidding! Oh no, please, don't do that…"

She smirked, encasing his rod once more and drawing a long, wanton moan from the mech. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close, pressing her mouthplates to his in a tender kiss. Optimus brought up a hand to caress her cheekplate, a wave of contentment washing through him. On all those nights he'd laid awake, he'd never once imagined that his dreams would actually become reality…

Elita arched violently, tossing her head back, a sweet cry erupting from her vocalizers. Optimus pulled her close, relishing the curvaceous frame against his, shuttering his optics as he overloaded with her. And for another incredible moment they were one--connected in mind and in body, experiencing one another, feeling all the other felt--

On impulse Optimus reached out for her spark.

They felt one another. _Felt _one another. She could feel his astral presence as something far more than the physical mech in her arms. She sensed Optimus Prime for all that he was in a mere instant, just as he sensed her. For a microsecond of eternity she felt his spark melt with hers, felt his overwhelming kind and lonely presence envelope her completely. Noble, passionate, caring, selfless, compassionate…Elita reached out for Optimus and drew him closer, desperately reaching out for his spark in the moment they had together.

But it was while she was reaching that she sensed something else entirely.

She'd felt it before with Megatron, though it had been much more prominent in him. As she plunged into Optimus's endless spark she sensed something lurking just beneath the surface of his being, some dark cloud hiding behind his Matrix. It was like a wild beast that only needed a trigger, some tiny reason to come forth, and it would consume Optimus entirely--

Their connection was terminated abruptly, and Elita found herself unceremoniously dropped back onto the berth. She onlined her optics cautiously and blinked up at the mech looming over her. Optimus was on his hands and knees, head bowed and optics dark.

"Optimus?" she breathed. When he didn't respond, she reached one trembling hand to his chestplates. "Optimus? Darling, what…?"

He jerked back violently the moment her fingers brushed his armor, onlining his optics and climbing off the berth. "I'll get us energon," he said, his tone flat and emotionless.

"Wait a microsecond--Optimus, what's wrong?"

He left without an attempt at a reply. Elita sat in stunned silence for a moment, steeling her resolve, before she hopped off the berth and followed him out the door.

The front door was open, and though the domicile was dark, she could see her lover silhouetted against the light of the moons outside. She took a few timid steps forward, gently placing a hand on his back. This time, he didn't pull away.

"I'm sorry," he said raggedly, his intakes hitching. "I'm sorry. I didn't think…I didn't want you to know…"

"Know about what?" she inquired softly, moving to stand before him. There was a desperately helpless look on his faceplate, a lost gaze in his optics that made her spark ache. She reached up to tenderly stroke his cheekplate, drawing him closer so she could press her foreplate to his.

"Shh," she soothed, nuzzling his nose with hers. "Shh…I'm here, dearest…I'm right here…tell me what's upsetting you so much."

He shuttered his optics at the tender touch, his intakes sighing softly. "There was a mech," he began quietly, covering her small hand in his where it rested upon his face. "A mech named Sideways. He defected to the rebels' side right after Sentinel died. Before he left, he said something to me…I just haven't been able to get it out of my processor. After these last few battles with the rebels, I'm just…wondering if what he said is the truth."

"What did he say?" Elita prompted gently, but Optimus merely shook his head.

"No. I don't want you to worry about it." Optimus lifted his optic covers, smiling serenely down at the femme he so loved. "Sentinel told me there would be obstacles. I just have to be strong."

"You are strong," she whispered, moving closer to him. "And I'll support you."

"Mmm." Optimus's smile widened, and he wrapped his free arm around her waist, pulling her up against his chest. "Don't decide to suppot me just yet. There's still a lot I have to tell you."

"I figured as much," she sighed, leaning her forehead against his strong chest. "There's a lot about you I don't know, isn't there."

"Yes." He rubbed her back gently, bending down to gently kiss the top of her helm. "But all in due time, sweetspark. By the time we bond, I'll have no secrets from you."

"Nor I from you," she agreed, tilting her head to look up at him. "You're not the only one with a complex past, Commander."

"Too true," he chuckled, taking her hand and beckoning her inside. She followed without complaint, gazing fondly up at her colossal mech.

"I really do think I might be starting to like you a little," she commented, and he laughed deeply.

"That's good to hear," he replied, amused. "I'm glad I'm in your good graces at last."

She smiled, moving closer to hold onto his arm. "I love you, Optimus."

He paused, looking down at her, and his optics dimmed, his expression softening. "Not nearly so much as I love you," he murmured. "It's unfair of Primus to torment my poor spark like this."

"Yes, poor you," she snorted, shaking her head slightly. "Must be really awful to be the commander of a huge army, surrounded constantly by adoring fans, mechs and femmes alike…do you have any idea how many notorious femme-lovers I've met who have mysteriously decided that they like mechs after spending a few breems with you?"

"Oh dear," Optimus said, frowning. "That's a tad bit disturbing. I don't think I could like a mech's aft nearly as much as I like yours."

She grinned over her shoulder at him, skipping ahead and into the berth room. "This aft is waiting for yours to get in here," she practically sang, turning on her heel to beam at him. "Because this aft's owner hasn't had nearly enough of her favorite mech for tonight."

Optimus grinned, striding forward and pulling her into his arms. But no sooner had their lip components met than his comm link went off.

* * *

"Hey, Boss," Jetfire said wearily, cradling his aching helm as he spoke into his comm link.

"Jetfire?" Optimus's voice came across the link, confused and concerned. "What's wrong? You don't sound right."

"Just got my processor knocked offline," Jetfire explained, sitting up with a grimace. "Listen, we had a bit of a fiasco here."

"Casualties?"

"Me, Hotshot, Prowl, Barricade, and…erm…Wingsaber."

"…I see. Tell me what happened."

So Jetfire told him. Told him of the imposter wearing Optimus's face; told him of the sudden and brutal attack by said imposter, how he'd viciously fought his way through the command center, jumped from a window on "the fragging top fragging floor," and how they hadn't seen him since.

"We've got a perimeter established around the base, and all the guards are on high alert," Jetfire assured his bewildered commander. "But Wingsaber's hurt bad, and Prowl got knocked offline too. He'll be out of commission until tomorrow morning. I thought it would be best if I sent an escort to pick up you and Elita."

"Why? I mean, of course I'll return to base, but why an escort?"

"The imposter was accessing our computer terminal," Jetfire said tiredly. "He was looking at our absensce roster. I think there's a good chance he was trying to find out where you were."

"Did you get a look at this imposter's real face?"

"Er…yeah. I think."

"And?"

"He…he looked like you."

There was silence on the other line.

"Sir?"

"Like me?" Optimus breathed.

"Yeah. Identical to you, but with black armor and red optics. We've already got it logged, and we're going to send out a notice to the Iacon civilians stating that it's not you they're seeing if they do spot the fragger."

"…How badly is Wingsaber injured?"

"Skewered through the shoulder," Jetfire replied grimly. "The blade nicked his spark chamber, Ratchet's prepping him for surgery now."

"How's Eclipse holding up?"

"She seems pretty shaken. Ratchet keeps telling her Saber's going to make it, but she doesn't seem convinced. It probably has something to do with the fact that there's so much energon in here it looks like Primus vomited…"

"Alright, have her contact me," Optimus requested. "And Jetfire--good job. I don't think Prowl could have done any better. Were you hurt badly as well?"

"Naw. Just a blow to the head. Fragger was feeling merciful, I guess. That, or he was in a hurry. I'll ask him while I'm sticking my foot up his aft."

Optimus laughed, and the mere sound of it soothed Jetfire's spark. The base was in chaos, but at least his commander--his best friend--was alive and well.

"How's Hotshot?"

"No worse than me. Can't stand up straight, but he'll be back in working condition by the time you're back."

"As will you, I hope."

"I'm tip-top already, just talkin' to you," Jetfire said brightly. "Hurry back, Boss, 'kay? We're pretty fragged here without you."

"…Yes. I'll be home soon. Have Eclipse call me?"

"Right away, bro. Take care."

"The same to you. Prime out."

The link closed with a soft click, but Jetfire sat still for a moment longer, listening to the hiss of the static in his audios. Six deca-cycles ago, Optimus probably would have responded to the crisis differently. He would've been horribly confused, then furious, then scared absolutely frag-less. But he had seemed so calm over the comm link. As though even a hundred miles away he was still in complete control.

"Growing up a little," Jetfire sighed to himself, before swinging his legs off the berth and approaching the still frantic Eclipse.

* * *

**Victory! I love sick days where you're not so sick that you're incapacitated, but you're still too sick to go to school :3 Granted, I do still have homework to do, but I'm happy to just be able to write a little. My writer's block is finally gone! The next chapter of New Beginnings is about half-way done, so please continue to be so graciously patient with me :D**

**Hope you enjoyed--reviews are so very appreciated! X3**


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

_Plenoptic_

**It's 10:30, I've finished all of my homework, I just drank a bunch of caffeinated Coke--heck, let's write some fan fiction.**

**Please enjoy, please enjoy immensely, please enjoy some more, and since I'm doing all of this well-wishing, please drop a review? **

* * *

_The acid rain bit through the ground, gnawing on the roofs and sides of buildings and attacking any unfortunate spark who hadn't made it inside on time. Mechanocats scattered, technopuppies whined, mothers ushered shrieking sparklings indoors, and in a cramped alley in downtown Iacon, Jetfire struggled not to cry._

_Everything was just so __**wrong**__. How was it possible that just an orn ago he'd been sitting in front of a holoscreen, watching a random program with his mother and sister, a warm cube of energon in his hands? How was it possible that just an orn later he was huddled on the streets, a poor, wretched runaway, the cruel rain chewing on his weak little frame? _

_Jetfire sniffled, wiping at his optics. His spark still hurt. The absensce of his mother and his sister--his two very best friends, the beings he'd cared so much about--had left a deep, empty void in his youngling spark. At first the pain had been so great he'd been unable to comprehend it. He hadn't even attempted to fight back when he'd been carried from his home and taken to another, into the care of a young bonded couple who wanted a child of their own. _

_But an orn had passed, the pain had dulled, and Jetfire had come to comprehend what had happened. His mother and sister were dead, his father only Primus knew where, and he was being forced to sit in with this stupid couple and pretend that all was right in the world just because their moronic, smiling faces said it was?_

_Jetfire pressed his face into his hands, a shaky sob breaking loose of his tiny frame. His little wings trembled slightly, and he cried. _

"…_What're you doin', kiddo?"_

_He lifted his head jerkily, blinking up at the massive figure suddenly blocking him from the sting of the acid rain. The mech was huge, easily the largest Jetfire had ever seen. His armor was a pale green, his arms splashed with purples and black. He gave the impression of a tough old mech who'd been around the universe more times than he could count and was getting quite fed up with the whole affair._

"_Whatcha doin'?" the mech repeated, and Jetfire swallowed._

"_Sitting here."_

"…_Crying?"_

"_I wasn't crying."_

_The mech stared at him for a moment, golden optics blinking slowly. "Where's your mum?"_

"_Dead." The word burst from Jetfire's mouth without his permission. He certainly hadn't meant to tell this mean-looking old mech anything, but something about him made Jetfire want to cry all over again. _

_The mech's face softened, and he bent down on one knee. "What's your name, squirt?"_

"_Jetfire," the youngling replied in a small voice, pulling his wings in a bit closer. "Momma named me."_

"_It's a good name. You're gonna be a flier?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

"_Where's your father?"_

"_I dunno," Jetfire mumbled, dropping his chin to his chestplates and staring at his feet. He felt like he was going to cry again. "They took him away."_

"_Who's 'they'?"_

"_I dunno who they were. They just took him away."_

"_Do you know why?"_

_Jetfire nodded slowly. "Yup. He killed Momma. He killed Momma 'cuz she killed Cloud and she was gonna kill me. She said she wanted to keep me safe, but she was gonna kill me. She put a cushion over my face."_

_The stranger was silent for what felt to Jetfire like a very, very long time. He shuttered his optics and listened to the pounding rain until the other mech spoke._

"_You poor kid," the old mech murmured, reaching out a hand to place it on Jetfire's small helm. "You poor, poor kid. Where are you supposed to be, little guy?"_

"_With a couple of weirdos. They told me everything was gonna be okay, so I left 'cuz I knew they were lyin'." _

"_How do you know they were lying?"_

"'_Cuz it __**can't**__ be okay," Jetfire replied in a whisper, and suddenly the tears were flowing down his cheeks, stifling his words. "M-Momma's g-gone…and Cloud's g-g-gone…and Papa killed Momma, but he said he loved Momma, and Momma loved me but she tried to kill me anyways…"_

"_You poor kid," the stranger repeated, and Jetfire suddenly found himself hoisted into a pair of thick, burly arms. "Primus ain't as merciful as we seem to think, is he now. I understand, kiddo, I understand. I know it hurts, but don't you worry about a thing."_

"_Why?" Jetfire squeaked, alarmed at the sudden embrace._

"_Because I'm gonna take good care of you, that's why," the mech murmured, gently stroking the youngling's frail head. "I'll help ya out. Ya ain't alone, Jetfire."_

"_Momma told me not to go with strangers," Jetfire said in a high voice, and the mech laughed deeply; Jetfire could feel the reverberations through the thick chest armor beneath him._

"_Well then, I'll just have to introduce myself," the mech rumbled. "The name's Scavenger, kiddo. I'm a bounty hunter--I catch bad guys and let the police lock 'em up so they can't hurt good squirts like you."_

"_How does knowing your name change anything, huh?" Jetfire demanded, squinting up at the grizzled face above him._

_Scavenger grinned, tapping the youngling's noseplates. "Well, now we ain't strangers anymore, are we?"_

"Are we or aren't we?"

"Huh?" Jetfire lifted his head, blinking in confusion at Prowl.

The tactician frowned at the sub-commander, disapproval written all over his faceplates. "Are we going to put out a notice to a few bounty hunters or not?"

"…Oh. _Oh_. Yeah, yeah, let's do that. Tell 'em we need the fragger alive," Jetfire ordered, rubbing his faceplate. "Unconscious or incapacitated or even in excruciating pain is fine, we just need to be able to interrogate the piece of slag without him dying on us."

"Bounty hunters can be an unruly bunch," Prowl remarked darkly. "They may triumphantly bring us back a corpse."

"Tell them that they won't get paid if the mech's not alive," Jetfire replied, shrugging. "Most of them do it for the money, you know."

"Most of them?"

"Heh." Jetfire grinned, pushing away his datapad. "The good ones do it to keep the streets safe for lost little younglings, obviously."

Prowl arched an optic ridge but decided not to push the matter; Jetfire was only cryptic when he was trying to communicate that he was done with the conversation. The tactician gathered his datapads and left, briskly making his way down the hall and back towards the command center.

"You dozed off."

Jetfire glanced sideways at the security officer at his side, a small smile touching his hidden faceplates. "Yeah, well. Hard not to when the Prowler gets going."

"Hm." Red Alert scrutinized the sub-commander carefully. "Thinking of Scavenger?"

"…I miss him."

"Of course you do. You two were close. It's perfectly reasonable that you are still grieving, even now."

"…Yeah. Well. I guess there's nothing I can do but grieve, is there? What frags me off is that I'm the only one doing so, ya know?"

"I'm sure that's not true. The others communicate sadness in different ways. It's not unlike Optimus to keep his feelings bottled up inside, nor is it unlike Hotshot to ignore that which upsets him. They are grieving, I am sure of it; Scavenger was their teacher, too."

"And what about you?" Jetfire asked quietly, cocking his head.

Red Alert smiled sadly, his optics dimming. "Scavenger was a very dear friend to me. I learned the basics of hand-to-hand combat from him as well, in the event that I had to stop an intruder. I dealt with his death in my own way, Jetfire. I don't believe that Scavenger would want us to be miserable over him forever. He is not gone from us as long as you hold him in your spark, remember."

"Right," Jetfire grunted, his huge frame lifting from his seat as he stood and stretched widely. "I appreciate the pep talk, Red, I really do."

"And how are you dealing with your grief, Jetfire?" Red Alert inquired suddenly, and the Seeker laughed.

"Me? Aw, you know--I get mad, go punch things, go kick Scav's monument, break my foot, laugh about it afterwards, and then…"

"…And then?"

"…And then I got talk it over with Optimus."

* * *

"_A deep space mission?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Commanded by __**me**__?"_

"_Absolutely."_

_Sentinel Prime smiled warmly at his adopted son, who was looking horrified and very much ready to lubricate in his armor. "You're more than ready, Optimus, I'm sure of it. This is a simple exploration mission to a planet that we have detected signs of life on."_

"_But we detect signs of life on dozens of planets every vorn," Optimus reminded his surrogate father, falling into step behind the colossal commander. "Why are we investigating this one planet?"_

"_Reports from various scientists, on base and otherwise, have suggested that the life on this planet may be sentient and robotic, like us. They may even have intelligence to some level. There is certainly not a discernable civilization at this point, but where there is sentient life there is the potential for families and community units. It's worth investigating, to be sure."_

"_Huh." Optimus frowned, looking down at his oversized feet. "But why me?"_

"_This is a relatively simple mission. We've had very few reports of any hostility in the area. It is a low-caliber mission for a low-caliber commander, and you need all the experience you can get. This will be a very good building block."_

"…_I'll have to go it alone?"_

"_Of course not," Sentinel chuckled. "Primus only knows what sort of trouble a mech like you could get into on your own. No, I'll have Scavenger accompany you as your guide, advisor, and youngling-sitter."_

"_I'm not a youngling anymore!"_

"_Compared to me you are, young one. I'm sure Scavenger will take good care of you. He's never allowed harm to come your way before."_

"_But it won't be just the two of us, will it?"_

"_Your processor is a byte slow today, Optimus. I'm going to have you handselect your officers for the mission. You'll have to choose a second in command and a medical officer, namely--an engineer will also be useful. You'll need someone with navigational abilities, and of course I'll have to check your choices before you leave. The mission may not entail much danger, but I refuse to leave my son at the mercy of whatever idiots he chooses…"_

_Optimus laughed, and Sentinel smiled down at the young mech. Optimus had sprouted up recently, easily growing out of his youngling frame and into the body of an adult mech. His chest and shoulders had broadened, his hips had narrowed, his face was losing its childishness and becoming sharper, more handsome and regal. It saddened the aged commander to see his son growing so quickly. Yet at the same time, there was an ever-growing sense of pride; a furious pride, really, for the magnificent mech that, only vorns ago, had been a shy sparkling. _

"_I'm off to the docking bay to select your ship," Sentinel announced, turning and placing his massive hands on Optimus's shoulders. "You are to begin preparing. Select your officers carefully; I will assign recruits and low-ranking officers to be grunts for the trip. This is to be the first mission that you will command solo; let us show the High Council that you are every bit a potential carrier of the Matrix."_

"_Yes, sir," Optimus agreed, grinning. "I won't disappoint you."_

_Sentinel's optics softened, and he lifted a hand to place it gently on Optimus's helm. "You could never disappoint me, young one. Now go. You have a misson to prepare for."_

_

* * *

_

"_A deep space mission?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Commanded by __**you**__?"_

"_And I quote-- 'absolutely.'"_

"_Oh man, you're fragged," Jetfire laughed, grinning over at his best friend. "You don't know how to command a fragging exploration mission! Slag, you can't even command a--"_

"_Not that this isn't very comforting and all, Jetfire, but--"_

"_Oh, yeah. Sorry. Look, don't worry about it. Sentinel doesn't have a moronic chip in his whole body, no way would he assign you this mission if he didn't think you were fully capable. You'll be fine, bro."_

_Optimus laughed. "Wish I had half your confidence."_

"_Well, I wouldn't mind having some of your modesty and adorable charm," Jetfire sighed, his faceplates turning glum. "I struck out with another femme last night. Third one this orn, can you believe that? She said I was--"_

"_Not to be selfish, Jet, but I am kind of having a crisis here."_

"_Right! Sorry! See, this is why I never even attempted to get into motivational speeches, I've got all the charisma in the world but for the life of my spark I can't seem to stay--"_

"_On track?"_

"_Yeah, that's--oh, Primus, frag me. Next time just tell me to shut up, Optimus." Jetfire stretched out his legs, looking over at his frowning companion. "What did Sentinel ask you to do in the meantime?"_

"_I just have to assemble my officers," Optimus sighed, one finger doodling in a thin layer of debris at his feet. "Don't for my own life know who I'll choose." He lifted his azure gaze to the city spread out beneath them. The roof was an enduringly wonderful place to think; the sight of the city always seemed to calm his processor. Sitting there with Jetfire, he wondered why it wasn't doing so today._

"_Let's see, you'll need a medical officer…an engineer? Yeah…what else did Sentinel say?"_

"_A second in command," Optimus said quietly._

"_Well, that one's easy. Just take Prowler."_

"_But Sentinel needs __**Prowl**__ here."_

"_Bah," Jetfire snorted. "All that pedantic psycho does anymore is file reports. He could use a break, I bet. So, what, it's just you commanding this thing?"_

"_Scavenger's coming as my advisor."_

"…_And to youngling-sit?"_

"_Shut up. I don't know what I'm going to do."_

"_You'll figure something out," Jetfire said lightly, patting his best friend's helm. "You always do."_

"…_Jet?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Will…will you do it?"_

"_Do what, bro?"_

"_Be my second in command." Optimus turned to look at the shuttle, his optics begging. "Be my right hand."_

_Jetfire blinked once, twice. Stunned. "…Jeez. Bro, that's…wow. That's pretty intense…wow."_

"_You don't have to," Optimus amended quickly, looking away. "It was just a thought. A second in command is supposed to be someone you trust, and…you are my best friend, so…erm. Sorry, I shouldn't have put you in this position, I--"_

"_I'll do it."_

"…_Huh?"_

"_I'll do it," Jetfire repeated, grinning. "Frag yeah I'll do it. I mean, this'll be awesome--getting off of base for a few orns, you and me, out in the middle of deep space, with no clear idea of what we'll find--this'll be the best! You've got yourself a second in command, bro!"_

"…_You're serious," Optimus realized, shocked. "You'll actually come?"_

"'_Course I will," Jetfire said, punching Optimus's shoulder lightly. "We're best friends, after all."_

* * *

The lab was dark and quiet. At the moment, the mech could find no better words to describe it. Moisture clung to the walls, dripping down upon rusting equipment. Groaning softly, he shuttered his optics, shakily placing his face in one hand. He felt a hand grasp his shoulder gently.

"Sentinel?" Nova Prime prompted softly. "Are you alright?"

The resurrected Prime nodded faintly, pulling a deep gulp of air in through his intakes. "I am…fine. The physical world is simply…overwhelming…at this point."

Nova nodded, handing his successor a cube of energon. "I understand. And I'm sorry. I wish we could handle this situation without you."

"No. You have nothing to…apologize for." Sentinel accepted the energon gratefully, drinking with vigor. "How is…my youngling?"

"Not a youngling anymore," Nova replied, refilling the empty cube. "He's planning on bonding with that femme of his."

Sentinel laughed quietly. "I always knew…Optimus…would be popular. But he's just…so shy."

"Not so different from you," Nova remarked, then turned at the soft hiss of the opening doors behind him.

"By Primus," he said quietly. "There they are."

"Indeed," Alpha Trion said brightly, striding through the doors with more confidence than he'd had in thousands of vorns. "By Primus' good will they've returned to us. Sentinel, old friend--how do you fare?"

"Well," Sentinel replied, and a broad smile crossed his faceplates at the sight that followed Trion in through the door.

The mech was colossal. He towered above the other bots in the room, and not just in physical stature. He had a presence about him, a latent yet boiling sort of strength that seemed to cast a glow about his form. His golden optics were bright with confidence and power, his tall, broad frame radiating nobility.

This being was greater than any other on the planet, for he was the very first extension of Primus's lifeforce, the first Cybertronian to unshutter his optics and open his intakes. His had been the first spark to ever pulse, his energon the first to ever give energy to a metallic frame.

He was the first Cybertronian, and the first Prime--

Primon.

Sentinel Prime lowered his optics, catching sight of the second bot at Primon's side. While in the incorporeal world of the Well of All Sparks, he'd forgotten just how truly beautiful she was. Blue, blue optics fluttered uncomfortably in the dim lighting of the room; her slender, graceful frame easily navigated the lab's many obstacles, moving about as if she were made of liquid. Delicate though she appeared, she, too, had a regal majesty about her. Prima was the second, the second Cybertronian and the second Prime--and the sparkmate of Primon.

Sentinel smiled at the couple as they joined the small group. The first sparkbond ever forged.

The very first union of two Cybertronian sparks was now standing before him. Solid and very, very real. The strongest bond in the universe, now contained within two incredibly powerful physical beings.

"So here we are," Alpha Trion sighed, motioning over to a berth, and Primon smoothly deposited his sparkmate upon it. Trion busied himself with examining her while her mate turned to the other mechs in the room.

"How goes it, Sentinel?" the first Prime inquired, his deep voice giving off a low rumble in his chest.

"It is strange, yes?" Sentinel replied, extending a hand, which Primon grasped tightly. "How strange it is to be a part of this world again."

"Nonsense," Primon chuckled, golden optics glowing warmly. "We have always been a part of this world, Sentinel. You know this. We became eternally linked to this universe the moment the Matrix touched our sparks." Turning, he blinked over at Trion. "Is she in good health?"

"Most assuredly," Trion replied happily, stepping back from the weary femme on the berth. "Incredible. Three successful resurrections with not a complication to be seen."

"We've only been resurrected to fight again," Prima said, a note of sadness touching her soft voice. "I've had quite enough of it, to be honest."

"Peace, love," Primon soothed her gently, stepping forward and touching his foreplates to hers. "We cannot ignore this world that we so love, especially not in a time of dire need. Besides, the Matrix is not yet safe. Optimus has much to learn, a lot of growing to do. He is not yet the Prime he should be."

"Be gentle with him," Prima grumbled, and Primon laughed lightly.

"I thought that perhaps your weariness would have subdued your fire."

"Absolutely not. Trion, do we have a plan?" she asked, looking over at the old scientist. "Or have you managed to make a mess of everything as usual?"

"I have complicated matters a bit," he admitted sheepishly. "But everything is as it should be now. Optimus and Elita are together, as they were always meant to be."

"So you've created your ideal universe," Prima summarized, her optics narrowing. "You are a bit like a child, Trion--if things are not as you want them, you allow your temper to control you. Tell me, whose spark did you break in order to push Optimus and Elita together?"

"It is not relevant," Trion replied smoothly, narrowing his optics over the third Prime. _You already know the answer, Nova._ "I do agree with Primon--Optimus needs to learn how to utilize the Matrix."

Prima frowned. "Surely you don't mean full synchronization. Optimus is barely an adult, and time has diluted the strength of Cybertronian sparks. He'd never survive."

"Or," Trion countered quietly, "he could successfully tap into Primus's conscience and achieve levels of power that even you never dreamed possible."

"Enough," Sentinel broke in suddenly. "That's…enough. We speak of synchronization too soon."

"There is no 'too soon' in this matter, Sentinel," Nova growled quietly. "Unicron is beginning to move. He already has incarnations here on Cybertron. Bludgeon is trying to bring back--_something­. _We are out of time. Optimus has to grow and grow fast."

"He's just a child," Sentinel said bitterly.

"That is untrue, Sentinel," Primon said gently. "He is a full grown mech. Personal matters have hindered his growth, but a war looms on the horizon. It is time we put him on the correct path."

Optimus's surrogate father lowered his gaze and said nothing more. It was difficult, suddenly, to think of himself as Prime again and not just as Optimus's parent. But there was no denying the truth in his predecessors' words.

"Very well," he sighed at last. "Yes, we must teach him. Shall we take him from base?"

"Not now," Trion replied, shaking his head. "Optimus has other matters to tend to right now, and you all must regain your strength. Give your sparks time to readjust to the world of the living while Optimus and Bloodlust settle their differences…"

* * *

"Prowl, Barricade, and Hotshot are all online. They seem to be suffering no repurcussions from their head injuries, and have all returned to duty. Saber got out of surgery a short while ago and is currently in the IC wing in temporary stasis while his processor recalibrates."

"…And you, Jetfire?"

"Tip-top and ready for action," the sub-commander replied smoothly.

"Well, you're reliable if nothing else," Optimus chuckled, looking over at his best friend. "The attacker hasn't been found?"

"Nah," Jetfire sighed, tone becoming somber again. "Haven't even seen the fragger. It's like he was never here."

"Hm." Optimus folded his arms over his chest, optics darkening. The news was disturbing, to say the least. A duplicate of himself, running amok on base, attacking his soldiers, his friends…A quiet rumble came from the commander's chest, and Jetfire cast a nervous glance over at him. Optimus could be scary when he started brooding.

"Where was Megatron during all of this?" Prime asked suddenly.

"Caught a bit of a nasty virus right after you left," Jetfire replied. "He's been holed up in his quarters. Ratchet told me not to tell him about the incident because it could aggravate his condition."

"Tell me about the work day during the incident. Who was skipping shifts?"

"Plenty of bots," Jetfire snorted disdainfully. "They seemed to think they could do whatever they wanted because you'd left…"

"Anyone who normally _wouldn't_ miss?"

"Er…I dunno…I think Perceptor and Moon Racer skipped…Ironhide…Thust…Infer--"

"What?" Optimus broke in sharply.

"Inferno. And…"

"No, before that--Thrust was off?"

"Yeah," Jetfire confirmed, nodding slightly. "What of it?"

"…Nothing. I might just be jumping to conclusions. Something about that mech just…bothers me," Optimus muttered, tenderly rubbing his foreplate. His processor was beginning to ache. "I apologize. You know I don't normally speak ill of my officers, I just…"

"Relax, big guy. He rubs me wrong too," Jetfire comforted his commander, clapping the massive mech on the shoulder. "You ought to go get some rest, bro. You haven't recharged since you got back."

"I'll be fine," Optimus said quickly, brushing off his friend's concern. "Besides, if Megatron is incapacitated, then I have to cover his duties as well. I'll rest when everything is back to normal."

"You sure?"

"I'm positive. Don't worry about me. Anyway, thank you for the report. Let's make sure to look into this matter carefully, and I want all cameras programmed to recognize my image."

"Armor alterations?"

"None. We can't afford to be lax."

"Yessir." Jetfire saluted briefly before turning and making his exit down the stairs. Optimus sank into his chair, looking glumly down at the bustling command center stretched below him. His optics absently tracked Thrust across the room, a small frown touching his faceplates. An impostor with his face, his body, his voice…groaning, Optimus lowered his face into one hand, wincing at the ache in his helm.

"Optimus?"

He jumped slightly at the sudden touch on his arm, and turned to see Elita standing at his side.

"You don't look well," she noted, touching the backs of her fingers to his foreplate. "Are you feeling ill?"

"I'm alright," he assured her, smiling and catching her hand in his. "And I owe you an apology. Our vacation was cut short."

"You're the commander. It couldn't be helped. Besides," she added, beaming, "it was wonderful while it lasted."

"I'm glad you thought so," he replied, lowering his voice and tugging her closer. "I'll take you again soon."

She shuttered her optics briefly and nuzzled her face against his before straightening and taking on a more commander-like air. "I've been to see Megatron, just a few breems ago. He wanted to apologize to you, he said he found your gun in his room."

Optimus arched an optic ridge, frowning. "And what of it?"

"He said you'd been looking for it right before we left," she replied, cocking her head.

"…I hadn't…" Optimus sank back in his chair, processor working furiously. The impostor… "Megatron must have encountered the attacker…Primus…"

"But Megatron didn't seem to think you were strange at all," Elita said, surprised. "He didn't mention any odd behavior when he told me about it…"

"I need to talk to him," Optimus decided, getting to his feet. "Is he awake right now?"

"I'm sure he is…you don't mind if I come?"

Optimus paused, doubt touching his thoughts. "Aero is living in Megatron's quarters…"

"I'm not afraid of him," Elita said flatly, slightly bemused, but then another thought struck her. "But I don't want to upset him, either…"

"…He only hit you when he saw you holding Bumblebee," Optimus said after a moment of thought. "If he does get upset, Megatron will be there to calm him. And I wouldn't mind him apologizing to your face…"

"Not necessary," Elita sighed, rolling her optics. Optimus could be so slagging overprotective at times, and though it was sweet it was often not needed. "The mech isn't right, Optimus, he's obviously very ill in the processor. Now are we going to go see your brother or not?"

The journey to Megatron's quarters was quick and quiet and thankfully went uninterrupted. Optimus half wished he could tell Elita that he really didn't want her in Megatron's quarters with both brothers present. Megatron seemed to have recovered from the broken bond, but only Primus knew how seeing Optimus and Elita together might change that…

"About time you came to see me," Megatron groaned when the couple entered, scowling at his brother from his berth. "Here I am, practically dying, while you're off frolicking Primus knows where…"

"I'm sorry," Optimus replied, smiling and settling on the edge of his brother's berth. "Listen, I know you're not well, but I need to talk to you about when you saw me before I left."

"Go for it," Megatron rumbled, settling back on his cushions. "But I really do feel like absolute slag, so please make it quick."

"You told Elita that you met me when I came back for my gun."

"S'what I said."

"Did I seem…normal to you?"

Megatron stared at his brother. "Of course you seemed normal. Why shouldn't you have? Do you think the twins have been slipping you energized powder?"

"No, nothing like that. It's just…" Optimus glanced over at Elita, who shrugged helplessly. Megatron really didn't look well; he definitely didn't need the strain of knowing that the base's superb defenses had been breached. "I wasn't speaking any differently? More to the point, I looked like myself?"

"Right down to the ridiculous crotchplate. What's this all about, Optimus?" Megatron demanded, sitting up, and it was at that moment that Aero came in.

"…Oh," the mech said in a small voice, shrinking in his armor when he saw the other bots in the room. "Er…"

"Hello, Aero," Optimus greeted, trying to keep his voice as pleasant as possible. Aero jumped slightly, optics widening when he set optics on the commander.

"Optimus? Uh, hello…um, sir…" Aero stammered horribly as he spoke, the energon cube in his trembling hands swishing about its contents slightly. Optimus could have sworn he saw a blush on the young mech's faceplates.

"Aero, I don't suppose you could apologize to Elita for striking her the other day?" Megatron said suddenly, frowning at his companion. Aero jumped once more, head whipping around to find Elita, who'd been hovering awkwardly in the corner.

"There's no need, Megatron," she said quickly. "It's already done and over with…"

"No, he needs to learn," he replied flatly. "Please, Aero. It would mean a lot to me. To Optimus, as well," he added pointedly, and Aero flinched.

Turning slowly, he shuffled closer to Elita, seeming to hide behind his energon cube. The femme commander scowled over at Megatron, but he was too busy watching the blue mech to notice.

"You don't need to apologize for anything, Aero," Elita said softly, returning her attention the little mech. "You were just upset. I understand."

A silence followed her words. Aero gazed into the energon cube, feeling all optics in the room upon him. Optimus had gotten to his feet, and Megatron's optics were narrowed. Only Elita was lax, watching the young mech curiously.

"I don't want to apologize," Aero said finally. "I'm glad I hit you. You deserved it."

"Aero!" Megatron snarled, swinging his legs off the berth, and every cord and cable in Optimus's body tensed. Elita's optics widened slightly in shock.

"Why do you say--?"

"You're awful," Aero breathed, and at that point, he knew there was no turning back. "You're _terrible_! First Megatron, then Optimus, then Megatron again, and now you're with Optimus! You're playing them! You're an evil, awful being that just plays with sparks like they're your toys!"

"That's enough," Megatron said roughly, getting up off the bed and grabbing Aero's arm. "You're out of control."

"No!" Aero screeched, throwing Megatron's hand off with an amazing burst of strength. "I hate you! Elita, _I hate you_! Optimus is _mine_! Bumblebee is _mine_! They love me, they're _my_ family! Optimus loves _me_, he wants to bond with _me_!"

"Stop it," Megatron hissed, seizing the small mech's wrists and pulling them behind his back. "Shut up, you moron, you'll ruin everything!"

"What are you talking about?" Elita demanded of Aero, her optics wide and her spark tight. "What do you mean, Aero?"

But Aero was completely beyond reason. Straining, thrashing, screaming, he managed to dig a heel into the gap in Megatron's ankle and foot armor. Hissing, the protectorate slackened his grip, and Aero tore loose and suddenly threw himself upon a bewildered Optimus.

"Optimus," the mech pled desperately, grabbing Prime's helm in his hands and pulling their foreplates together. "Optimus. Optimus. It's me. Please, please, it's me!" Scrabbling fingers pulled away the mask, and Optimus was shocked by the lips that suddenly caressed his.

"It's me," Aero moaned, fingers digging painfully into the sides of their captive's helm. "I'm your sweetspark…your sweetspark, don't you remember? You said you loved me…you love me…don't let her fool you, don't let her bewitch your spark…"

Megatron intervened swiftly, seizing the little mech fully around the waist and turning to carry him out.

"I'm your sparkmate!" Aero screamed, one hand reaching out blindly over Megatron's shoulder. "We're sparkmates! Bumblebee is our son, we're sparkmates! You said we were a family! _You said we were a family!_"

The screams died down as Megatron moved into the back of his quarters, leaving his room silent and tense. Optimus's spark was twisting violently, but his body had gone numb. He couldn't push off the words as those of a deranged mech. Bumblebee…'sweetspark'…it had to be…_had to be_…

"…Optimus?"

He turned his head. Elita was watching him quietly, her expression a mixture of fear and horror.

"Optimus?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "Optimus. What's he talking about?"

He shook his head slowly. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense. Aerith was dead. She'd been dead for vorns. How…_how_…?

"Optimus," Elita said again, and now her voice was shaking. "Why did he call himself your sparkmate? And…Bumblebee? A family?"

"…It's Aerith," Optimus murmured. "It's Aerith…"

"Aero is?"

"Must be. He knew about…" Optimus lowered his gaze, shame overwhelming him. "He knew about Bee…"

A brief silence danced between them before Elita inhaled deeply and moved forward to stand before her intended, bright blue optics glaring up into his own.

"Whatever it was that you hadn't told me yet," she said softly, optics narrowing, "now would be a very, _very_ good time."

* * *

**Oh shiz. :3 Please review! By the way, the FFN editor wasn't working well--sorry if my page breaks are a little goofed up. Also, I was so eager to post this that I didn't proofread it all the way, so please forgive a typo here and there.**


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

_Plenoptic_

**The New Beginnings update is up!!! Please enjoy it!**

**So here we go--the truth behind Aerith's "death" is finally revealed!**

* * *

"…I can't."

Elita One arched an optic ridge. "What do you mean, you can't?"

"I don't…" Optimus lowered his gaze, struggling to put his thoughts into words. "Elita. I don't know…what's going on. Aerith shouldn't be alive. I don't understand it. Any of it. I need to know…I need to find out for myself what's going on. I swear I'll tell you everything, I just…need to sort things out."

There was a pause before the femme nodded, turning on her heel. "I'll see you later then. Good luck."

"Lita," Optimus began, but she was out the door before he could squeeze another word out. He sighed, rubbing his helm. She was upset, it didn't take a genius to realize that, but he had other problems to deal with now. He would work things out with Elita later.

It took more courage than he'd expected to open the door to the back room.

"--You've ruined everything," Megatron was saying, his voice a low growl. "Everything! I'll be fine, perhaps, but you've lost Optimus, do you realize that? You've got no chance now, he'll hate you, mistrust you--"

Optimus stepped into the room. Aero--no, Aerith--was sitting on the spare berth, arms wrapped around her knees, tears trailing silently down her faceplates. Megatron was looming over her, arms braced on either side of her trembling form, his face a dark mask of fury.

"Megatron," Optimus said quietly, and both bots turned to look at him at once. Megatron corrected his expression, arranging his face into a pained grimace, and Aerith hid her face in her arms. "Don't speak to her that way," Prime continued, hot fury welling in his spark. "I want and explanation now. Right now."

Megatron stepped away from Aerith, scowling slightly. "It's a long story," he said quietly, but Optimus's only reply was to pull over a nearby chair and seat himself, folding his arms over his chest and looking up at his twin.

The High Protectorate sighed, sinking down onto the edge of the berth. He suddenly looked very tired.

"I realized the first time you introduced us that she was my sparkmate," Megatron said quietly, lowering his gaze to the floor. "That day when you brought Eclipse to our meeting with the High Council. I didn't say anything, of course. You were in love with her. And I knew she felt it too."

Optimus glanced over at Aerith, whose face was still hidden. She'd found her sparkmate in Megatron? She'd never once mentioned it…It hurt to think that she didn't feel that she could trust him with such intimate information…

"We met only a few times after that," Megatron continued. "I wouldn't say that I fell in love with her, but she was my sparkmate, and I felt a certain possessiveness, a desire to have her for myself. So when I found out that she was ill, that she was going to die…" He sighed uneasily, shifting his weight on the berth. "I contacted her. We made plans. That night, when you left base with her, fell asleep outside, I followed you. I injected you, Optimus, with a sedative to ensure that you remained in deep recharge while I worked. I opened her chestplates and placed her spark in my own chamber, then downloaded the contents of her processor to a porti-disk."

Optimus shook his head slowly. Unbelievable. He'd never even suspected…

"I uploaded her processor data into another, and waited awhile until the virus became obsolete," Megatron went on, folding his hands in his lap and resting his elbows on his thighs. "After that, it was a simple matter to obtain another frame--a mech's, so that she would not be recognized--and replace her spark and insert the new processor."

"…It's been two vorns," Optimus breathed. "Two vorns…"

"It took that long for the new processor to successfully purge the virus," Megatron said, answering the unspoken question. "I kept her spark safe, either in my spark chamber or in other small containers."

"…The whole time you were bonded with Elita," Optimus murmured, and his optics hardened. "The whole time, you were hiding away your sparkmate? Saving her for later?"

"It wasn't like that," Megatron said quietly, but Optimus abruptly got to his feet, fury pulsing on his end of their bond.

"Out," Optimus said softly, pointing to the door. "Get out. I'll speak to you later."

Megatron got to his feet and left wordlessly, sparing not a glance back for neither his brother nor his sparkmate. Optimus waited until the door had slid shut before turning to Aerith. She flinched under his gaze, looking away, and jumped when a cool hand slid beneath her chin, turning her face to his.

He felt his spark melt at the sight of her. It was a mech's frame, but the look in her optics was the same. The same innocent, quiet gaze, almost timid. He caressed her cheek, moving to sit in front of her on the berth. She shuttered her optics at the touch.

"Aerith," he murmured, a soft smile touching his lips. "I've missed you, sweetspark."

She clapped a hand over her mouthplates to muffle her sob. "I…I-I'm so…s-sorry…Optimus, I…"

"Shh," he soothed softly, pulling her up against his chest, cradling her in his arms. "Shhh…it's alright…"

She broke down in his arms, burying her face in his neckplates and sobbing helplessly. He held her silently, rocking her gently, willing himself not to think. Not to think of Elita, not to think of Megatron. Nothing but Aerith…

"I should have told you," she whispered, wrapping her arms weakly around his midsection. "I wanted to tell you, really I did, but I was so afraid…he may have been my sparkmate, but I didn't love him, I swear I didn't, I loved you…I _do_ love you…"

"I know, I know," he sighed, leaning his helm against hers. "I don't blame you, Aerith. I don't blame you for any of it."

She shuttered her optics, leaning against him fully, a smile drifting over her faceplates. "I've missed you…"

He brushed his mouthplates over her audio, tightening their embrace. "It's been so hard," he whispered, reveling in the feel of her frame against his. "So hard…I never realized--"

Their reunion was interrupted by the sudden explosion of sound on Optimus's comm link. He broke away from the mech in his arms, opening his channel.

"This is Prime…"

"Optimus!" Jetfire's voice leapt out at him, almost drowned out by the sound of gunfire in the background. "Optimus, boss--they're right at our gates, Bloodlust is right at our fragging door!"

"I'm coming," Optimus replied, scrambling off the berth. "Hold them off, don't let them breach the city's defenses!" He closed the channel before turning back to Aerith. "I have to go…"

She got up and moved close to him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before stepping back. "Go," she said, smiling up at him. "You're still my soldier, aren't you."

He beamed, returning her kiss before turning and sprinting for the battlefield.

* * *

"…_So. The crew for this mission consists of a flying idiot--"_

"_Oy!"_

"_--a moronic recruit--"_

"_Hey!"_

"_--a gambler, a pedantic security officer turned medic--"_

"_Why you--"_

"_I beg your pardon?!"_

"_--me, a slacker who prefers sleeping to actually working, and Sentinel's brat, who has absolutely no leadership experience outside of organizing slumber parties."_

"_S-Scavenger!"_

_Scavenger leaned back in his chair, satisfied now that Jetfire, Hotshot, Smokescreen, Red Alert, and Optimus were all wearing identical scowls. They'd been far too excited about this mission, it had been his duty to step in and give them a gentle reality check._

…_Well. Mostly it was just fun to kick their egos around, but…_

"_Well, now that our confidence has been given that tremendous boost," Optimus grumbled, glaring at his teacher. Scavenger arched one optic ridge, scratching his chestplates absently, as if to communicate to Optimus that he still wasn't anywhere close to an authoritative challenge. "Let's do our best over these next few orns to make sure that all preparations are made for this voyage. It's a low level exploration with little chance of combat, but I don't want to be caught unawares by anything…unfriendly."_

"_Re-__**lax**__," Jetfire snorted, putting his feet up on Optimus's desk. "If this wasn't a super low-risk deal, Sentinel would never assign it to you, Opt."_

"_I agree," Red Alert said, nodding and folding his arms over his chest. "Sentinel would not want to see any harm befall you, Optimus."_

"_Low risk? That's so boring! I wanted to see some action!"_

"_Shut up, Hotshot. You really don't know anything, do you?"  
_

"_I know more than you, Jetfire!"_

"_Yeah, right. Where's your blankie, you big sparkling?"_

"_Shut up!"_

"_Enough, both of you," Optimus sighed, rolling his optics to the ceiling. He was more than used to their antics, but that didn't make them any less annoying. "Yes, Hotshot, this mission is low risk. I can't stress that enough. If you don't want to come, you're more than welcome to sign off. However, I asked you join us because I thought you would appreciate the chance to gain experience."_

_Hotshot closed his mouthplates, blushing furiously at the reprimand. He had yet to grasp that making to the "big leagues" meant exercising a bit of patience. _

"_In short, you're playing favorites, right?" Scavenger yawned, and Optimus finally snapped._

"_Honestly, Scavenger, if you were any less helpful you'd be __**Jetfire**__!"_

"_Ouch, bro."_

"_I mean, really, all you ever do is sit around and sleep, you never actually pay attention during my training, you trip me in the halls, tease me and belittle me--"_

"_Is this a lover's quarrel or are you complaining to a bully?" Scavenger asked flatly, scowling. "Grow up, Optimus. You're not a kid anymore."_

"_I am the future Prime and you will show me some __**respect**__, dammit!"_

_The room fell silent at the outburst. Scavenger stared at his protégé, surprised; Hotshot was open-mouthed, Jetfire's optics were wide, Red Alert had become very interested in the floor, and Smokescreen was almost sadistically interested. Optimus blinked twice before recoiling, seeming to shrink in his armor._

"_I…er…"_

"_There ya go," Scavenger grunted, getting to his feet, and Optimus stared._

"_Huh?"_

"_That's what I'm talking about," Scavenger went on, grinning. "Fight for that respect, kid. No one will ever accept your as Prime if you can't even win their respect."_

"…_Um. Yes. Thank you…"_

"_Alright, then," Scavenger said briskly, turning to the other mechs in the room. "We've got a mission to prepare for, so let's get going, eh? No more slacking off, ya group of sparklings, let's go…"_

* * *

"…Huh. Guess it's safe to say I found it."

Valkyrie floated high above the battle, blue optics coolly surveying the scene. She'd left Haven six deca-cycles ago with the intention of coming to Iacon, but Eclipse had gotten into contact with her shortly afterward and requested that her second in command stay in Crystal City for the time being. Valkyrie had obliged, for a time--but she'd gotten antsy and had left at the most opportune time, it seemed.

She dove lower, picking off a few rebels with her rifle as she went. They were a brutish bunch, she observed with distaste. No organization whatsoever. And how had so many of them gotten to Iacon unnoticed?

Her optics scanned the battlefield. She could just make out the vibrant form of Optimus Prime below, a sword in each hand, mask shielding his face.

"Val?!"

She turned, releasing a sigh when the jet sped towards her. "Hey, Wingsaber. It's a real party here, huh?"

"Hardly," he snorted, coasting over to her and peering at the battle below. "What took you so long?"

"Eclipse had me on stand by in Crystal City. How the frag did all these bots get here?"

"The mines."

"Huh?"

"They used the old energon mines," Wingsaber repeated, shrugging. "You know, the underground circuits? At least, that's the only logical answer I can come up with."

"…That's actually pretty smart."

"Their tactician is some rogue named Finder. He's a mercenary slash bounty hunter who'll apparently do anything for the right price. Bloodlust hired him on deca-cycles ago, and apparently he's been a huge pain in the aft."

"So he's definitely on Bloodlust's side?"

"Maybe. I don't know. He's a bounty hunter, after all, so it's not in him to side with criminals. You can't trust a bot who only works for credits. He's just in it for the props, I'm assuming."

"A bounty hunter who doubles as a mercenary? Kind of a weird combination. So how are we doing down there?"

"Optimus is fending them off, for now," Wingsaber sighed, dropping down a few feet, optics scanning until he identified the commander's bold armor. "All of the citizens have been evacuated; a lot are in hiding within the base, others in underground bunkers. Iacon is known for being a battle-ready city."

"Thanks for the lesson. Anything I can do to help?"

"Shoot 'em if ya got 'em," Wingsaber replied lightly, grinning, and with that he flared his wings and dropped into the battle below.

Valkyrie followed suit, narrowing her optics against the rush of air past her face. Her long, thin rifle picked off rebels below with deadly accuracy. The ground was already littered with corpses, rebel and soldier alike. She didn't see any fallen bots that seemed to be alive.

A glint caught her optic, and she turned her head to see the titanic form of a white Seeker nearby, moving so swiftly it was as though he was dancing with the five rebels surrounding him. He had a sword in one hand and a blaster in the other, using both weapons with precision and ease. Valkyrie took a moment to admire his sword work; sharp, quick jabs, smooth uppercuts. He was good, she noted. His attention was focused on his sword, so he was shooting the blaster based on his lateral sensors. Quite the multi-tasker.

Preoccupied with the two mechs he had left, however, the white flier was oblivious to the rebel behind him, raising a frighteningly large rifle. Valkyrie fell into a sharp dive, landing with a gentle thud behind the rebel. His finger had just tightened on the trigger when she leapt forward, hitting him hard in his mid-back. He jerked back, and the shot went high. The white mech, startled by the rifle's report, spun around and was quick to fire three shots into the rebel, downing the mech easily. He lifted his gaze to Valkyrie, watching her quizzically.

"You know, lateral sensors are all well and good, but _pay attention_, fly boy!" she growled, wings arching in irritation.

"Sorry. Never had that happen before. Thanks, though, you probably saved my life," he replied brightly, and Valkyrie had the impression that he was smirking beneath his mask.

"I probably did," she responded haughtily, mounting her rifle on her shoulder. "Now enough with the talk, we've got a battle to--"

"Get down!" the mech roared suddenly, and Valkyrie dropped on instinct. A plasma round spun through the air where her head had been. Jetfire darted to the side, activating the thrusters in his feet to spring forward, plunging his blade into the attacker's chest as he landed.

"Now we're even," he said over his shoulder, grinning down at the startled femme. "You okay, little lady?"

"Don't be cute. You saved me, but it's not getting you anything more than even."

"Sure, sure. Exactly what I'd expect," the mech said, putting his back to hers as they engaged the rebels once more. It was reassuring to have the femme at his back, watching his rear. Sure as Pit made the fighting easier. "You got a name, little lady?"

"My mother told me never to talk to strangers."

"I'm Jetfire."

"Good for you."

"Well, now we aren't strangers, are we?"

"…My name is Valkyrie."

He smiled faintly, almost dreamily sending a plasma round in to the chest of an approaching rebel. "Valkryie…"

"What?"

"Nothing. It's a nice name."

Nice. What the frag kind of adjective was that? Jetfire wanted to smack himself. Well, perhaps it was just as well. She seemed to be a no-nonsense kind of femme; sweet talking probably wouldn't woo her anyway.

Jetfire frowned. He could feel his spark reacting to this femme. Clearly, some very creative tactics were priority…

* * *

Finder found his target with ease. It was quite hard, really, to miss Optimus Prime, even in a crowd. Or on a battlefield, for that matter. His blue optics, topping his battle mask, were iconic, his bold reds and blues a beacon. Finder didn't approach immediately, watching the young commander move like a liquid through the throngs of bots. His sword work was impressive. Long, sweeping movements, mesmerizing dances through the air. Optimus always had been good with the sword, so it was no wonder he'd managed to master using two.

Finder drew his own weapon of choice. The blade was huge, thick and wide. It was dull, but it wasn't meant to cut; in Finder's hands, the sword was a like a club, used to bash in his opponent's vital structures.

Optimus noticed the mech out of the corner of his optic in the nick of time; he spun on his heel, using both of his swords to halt the blade swinging down towards his head.

"Been a while," Finder said, smirking, and Optimus's optics narrowed.

"So it has. You've been doing a good job, it seems. The mines, I assume?"

"Very perceptive. You always were a smart one."

Finder went in for a jab, which Optimus countered easily, bringing their blades together.

"You've gotten better," Finder noted, smiling faintly. "Faster. Stronger. I knew you would."

"I have you to thank," Optimus replied, his optics softening. He leapt forward, bringing his blade up against the other mech's, so that their faces were no more than a foot apart.

"It's Elita," Finder said softly, meeting his former student's optics steadily. "It's Elita that he's after."

Optimus's optic widened. "What?"

"He wants to do to Elita what he did to Aerith."

"What he did to…it was _Bloodlust_ who corrupted Aerith?"

Finder nodded grimly. Optimus's optics narrowed, darkening dangerously. He broke away, sheathing his swords and pulling his rifle from subspace.

"Hey!" Finder called after him as the mech tore off. "What do you want me to do?"

Optimus paused, looking over his shoulder at the bigger mech. "As of now, your reconnaissance mission is officially completed. I need you here. So welcome back, Scavenger."

* * *

The strike came so fast and so hard that for a long few moments, she didn't even realize that it had happened.

Elita One clutched her helm shakily, shuttering her optics tightly. She didn't dare open them; the world, as she went down, had been spinning violently. Her tanks threatened to purge, and she clamped her jaw shut tightly. Wasn't vomiting one of the symptoms of an extreme head injury? She knew that much just from being around Ratchet so much…

She cautiously cracked one optic open, then the other. The scene around her was slightly blurred. Bodies on top of bodies, the bright lights of laser fire, throngs and throngs of bleeding, dying soldiers. Wincing, she turned her head towards the sky and felt her pump freeze.

The mech standing over her was terrifying. His dark armor glowed, illuminating his horribly disfigured face, the red horrid red optics narrowed down at her. The massive battle axe hung from his hand, and she realized in horror that it was that weapon that had nearly knocked her head from her shoulders.

Trembling, tanks churning, she forced herself onto her hands and knees, glaring up at the mech. Undoubtedly Bloodlust. The battle axe, the menace in his gaze, the cruel smile twisting his misshapen features. There was something eerily familiar about him, though she'd never seen the mech before.

"My, my," Bloodlust almost purred, bending down on one knee to bring his face level with hers, "you've gotten so pretty, Ariel."

She jerked back in shock, releasing a snarl when he wrapped a hand around her throat and dragged her roughly to her feet.

"You really are beautiful," he breathed, red optics narrowing with undisguised lust. "You're a full grown femme now, aren't you?" He lifted his other hand to run a finger down her face. "Do your recognize me, Ariel? You were to be mine, once. Don't tell me you've forgotten?"

She froze, all struggles ceasing as she looked up at him. "…Malevolence," she breathed, optics widening. "You're…but…"

"Supposed to be imprisoned, I know," he sighed dramatically, smirking. "But come now. I'm the son of a Councillor. You really didn't expect me to rot in that Pit forever, did you? The evidence claiming that I was supporting the rebels was purely circumstantial. But people were scared, they wanted to see someone locked up. So I was it." He laughed, and the sound sent chills through her. "I was bailed out about an orn later by my father. They kept it quiet, of course, that would look bad to the media and everyone else. But I got out." His voice grew quiet, his optics narrowing. "And then? And then I killed my father, and then I decided that I wanted you."

"Too bad there's no going back to prison," she growled. "It's straight to Pit for you."

"Perhaps," he mused, hoisting his axe onto his shoulder. "Perhaps, my dear. I suppose that'll make you my last meal," he added, licking his lips hungrily. "I was hoping to take you before either of those two glitches could, but you've been with both of them, haven't you, you little whorebot?"

She tensed, a snarl touching her mouthplates. Bloodlust smirked, dropping her to the ground and lifting his axe.

"I promise to wake you up when we get home, dear," he purred, optics glinting. "But be a good girl and recharge now, alright?"

"_Bloodlust!_"

Elita jerked around, relief flooding her at the sight of Optimus Prime standing only a few meters away, blue optics blazing as he glared down the maniacal mech hovering above her.

"Here we go," Bloodlust snorted, shaking his head. "The hero arrives to save the damsel, is that how it goes? Tell me, Prime, how did you manage to survive?"

"Sheer force of will. You?"

"The same, I suppose. We're more alike than we thought."

"We're nothing alike," Optimus snarled. "Now hand her over."

"You think not, Optimus?" Bloodlust inquired, bending down to seize Elita and pull her up against his chest, ignorant of her desperate struggles. "I think we really are similar, my friend. For instance, we both…" he lowered his head, touching his glossa to the side of Elita's neck, "…Want to frag this little femme out of her sweet processor, don't we?"

Optimus launched himself forward with a roar, optics blazing in fury. Bloodlust immediately shoved the blade of his axe beneath Elita's chin, stopping the commander in his tracks.

"Believe it or not, I want you dead more than I want her in my berth," Bloodlust said, optics narrowing dangerously. "So if you make a move I really will take her head off."

"Optimus," she breathed, glancing over at him. "Optimus, you've got to stop him. Stop him, don't worry about me--"

"Too late," he replied stoically. "Bloodlust. Release her. This is between you and me, she has nothing to do with this!"

"Optimus, it's Malevolence," she blurted, and Optimus's gaze snapped to her. "It's Malevolence, Bloodlust is an alias, he was released from prison by his father--"

Bloodlust abruptly dropped his axe and brought a fist up into her helm. Her head jerked forward, and she felt her processor powering down before the world went black.

"_ELITA!_"

"Annoying female," Bloodlust snorted, turning his head to speak into his comm link. "Shortstop. We've got what we came here for. We're pulling out. Finder, report."

His only response was silence punctuated by soft static. Bloodlust growled, tapping his helm impatiently. "Finder! Come in! I don't have time for games, you stupid brute! We're pulling out! Find--"

His words were cut off abruptly as Optimus hurtled forward, slamming into the rebel's stomach and knocking him backward. Prime caught Elita hurriedly, lowering her gently to the ground and tenderly brushing his knuckles against her cheekplate before straightening and turning to face Bloodlust. The rebel leader's faceplates were contorted into a vicious snarl, his red optics murderous. He knelt to grip the handle of his axe.

"You insolent child," he spat viciously, taking a step forward. Optimus mimicked him, desperate to pull the fight away from his unconscious intended. "You and your pampered brother! Cybertron deserves a true order, a strong ruler! This world has been enslaved by those fools on the High Council, and you're just their puppets!"

"That may be," Optimus retorted, hoisting his rifle in his arms, "but Cybertronians don't want a rebellion any more than they want a controlling government."

"Obviously they _do_ want a rebellion," Bloodlust sneered. "Where do you think I found my troops? Nebulon? Quintessa? Junk, perhaps? No, Prime--they are Cybertronian citizens, vast numbers, who all want to see a change in the order of this world."

"This is not the way to go about bringing change," Optimus replied firmly. "I have always tried my best to cater to Cybertron's needs and interests, but I cannot let this rebellion continue."

"Enough," Bloodlust snarled. "Enough! I've had enough of your drivel! I'm going to cut your head from your shoulders and we'll use your body for cannon fodder to blow your base into oblivion! A child like you has no chance of stopping us!"

Optimus moved forward before his opponent had even closed his mouthplates, tackling the rebel and driving him backwards. Bloodlust brought the end of his axe's handle down between Optimus's shoulders, toppling the young commander. Prime scrambled back to his feet, narrowly dodging a downward swing of the blade. He subspaced his rifle and drew his sword, driving the rebel back with short jabs and swipes. Anything to get him away from Elita.

"Up top, Boss."

Optimus glanced upwards, nodding briefly at Jetfire, who was hovering high above him. "Jetfire. Can you get Elita out of here?"

"Sure thing. You need help?"

"No. I can handle this."

"No offense, big guy, but it didn't turn out so well the last two times," Jetfire said nervously, watching his commander warily.

"I've got this, Jetfire. Please, just get Elita out of here."

"Yeah, okay. You've got it, Chief--just be careful, alright?"

"You've got precious cargo--follow your own advice."

Prime turned off his commlink, leaping at Bloodlust with a roar; Jetfire, meanwhile, swooped in low and gently lifted Elita into his arms.

"Optimus," she mumbled, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"He's alright," he assured her softly. "I'm just getting you out of here, okay? Then I'll be back to help OP."

Elita blinked up at him wearily before shuttering her optics, dropping her head against his chest. Her processor ached…

The battle below had become drastically more violent. Bloodlust was throwing punches to accompany his axe, clawed fingers ripping at every bit of Optimus they could find. Prime was kicking, thrashing, swiping with his sword, anything he could think of to bring the vicious rebel down. It had to _stop_. Bloodlust blatantly endangered everything he cared about--Elita, his brother, his sister, his beloved little Bumblebee…Aerith. This was the mech who had effectively killed Aerith. Optimus had never actually seen the face of Aerith's tormentor, but Malevolence had been suspected of being allied with the rebels. It made sense. It all made sense…

Something white hot plagued Optimus's spark. He hated this mech. He hated the being that had been so cruel to the two femmes he loved. He wanted Bloodlust _dead_, he wanted Bloodlust to meet death by Prime's own two hands--

"_You crave battle like an organic craves oxygen."_

Bloodlust lifted his axe, perfectly ready to take his opponent's head clean off, when he felt a strange pain in his back. His processor felt fuzzy, his body strangely overheated--there was a sort of burning beneath his armor--no, within the armor itself…

Optimus Prime moved forward like lightning itself, easily ducking Bloodlust's wildly swinging axe and plunging his sword up to the hilt into the murderer's chest.

"_For all your talk of peace, even you must admit that you love the smell of battle."_

Bloodlust blinked, staring down at the sword hilt protruding from his chestplates. His optics lifted to stare into Optimus's fiery blue orbs before the light behind them went out. Prime lifted a foot, pushing Bloodlust's body from his sword with a wet _shluck_.

He felt numb. The battle raging around him sounded muted to his audios. All he could hear was a faint ringing, and an echoing laughter from long, long ago.

* * *

"They're pulling back."

Optimus didn't reply. From his position on the command center balcony, he could vividly see the entire battlefield. The rebels below were scattered around the outskirts of the city, having been given permission to remove their dead and withdraw peacefully. Optimus knew he should have obliterated their forces, but their backbone had been broken. With Bloodlust dead, their morale had vanished. Besides, they were Cybertronians. Not soldiers, but distraught Cybertronian citizens.

Finder strode to the young commander's side, placing a large hand on Prime's shoulder. "Hey. Are you alright?"

"…I'm sorry, Scavenger."

Finder jerked, his old name grazing his audios roughly. He hadn't heard it a long, long time. "For what?"

"…I'm giving the Matrix to Rodimus."

Scavenger stared, stunned. "Excuse me? What for?"

"…He was right. About me. Sideways was." Optimus lowered his optics, his intakes hitching slightly. "He was right about all of it…"

"Shut up," Scavenger growled, turning his protégé around and gripping Optimus by both shoulders. "Sideways played on your worst fears and got inside your head. You're a soldier, Optimus, killing is part of the job. But you don't enjoy it. I know you don't. You were shellshocked after your first battle. I remember, I was there. I was the one who brought you energon because you'd holed yourself up in your quarters. Even Sentinel couldn't get through to you. Does that sound like the behavior of someone who looks forward to battle?"

Optimus didn't respond, staring down at Scavenger's huge feet.

"You should get back into your old armor," Prime said quietly after a moment. "You don't look like yourself. Jetfire and Hotshot will be happy to see you again. They've missed you."

Scavenger sighed, his old intakes wheezing gently. He hesitated before pulling Optimus into a gruff embrace, clapping the younger mech on the back with one large hand.

"Missed you, kid," he said roughly, and Optimus nodded mutely, overcome with emotion. His spark felt strangely whole, a warm, protected feeling sinking into his consciousness. He gripped Scavenger tightly for a moment before the old warrior drew back, clearing his intakes awkwardly.

"Er. Right. Well. I'm off to get fitted for new armor, then." He clapped Optimus on the shoulder before turning and striding toward the door.

"Oh--Scavenger," Optimus said suddenly, looking at his old mentor. "Right before I--right before Bloodlust died, he seemed rather…ill. His frame was overheated when I--when he passed. And when he had Elita, he seemed quite mad, actually. Did you have anything to do with that?"

Scavenger paused, a faint smile touching his faceplates. "Well. After you blew half of his body off, I _might_ have had some uranium infused into his new armor."

Optimus couldn't suppress a grin. "That's absolutely diabolical."

"Thank you," Scavenger snorted, and waved dismissively before opening the door to the balcony, striding back into the command center that felt so like home.

* * *

Consciousness came in waves, each one clearer than the one before. At first she thought her audios were malfunctioning, but the room was just quiet. Dark. Elita One shifted uncomfortably, groaning slightly when her helm throbbed. She felt a weight on the side of the berth, and squinted to her left to see the immense form of Optimus Prime recharging in a chair, his upper body resting on the berth.

"…Why aren't you with Aerith?" she wondered aloud, reaching out to softly touch his faceplates. He didn't appear to be wounded; had he managed to kill Malevolence? She sat in silence for what felt like eternity, stroking his slumbering face gently. She hadn't seen him so relaxed in a long time…

"He asleep?"

She lifted her head, startled by the voice, and smiled upon seeing Jetfire's curious head poking in through the doorway. "Yes. What happened out there?"

"We got the fragger," Jetfire replied smugly, coming into the room and sitting himself down on her other side. "Optimus killed Bloodlust, and the rebels put up the white flag."

"How many casualties?"

"On our side, not as many as last time. Our boys fought well out there." His optics dimmed, and he sighed softly. "Rebels lost a lot, though. All those citizens just dead…I tell ya, it was the hardest battle I've ever had to fight."

Elita reached out and took his hand, squeezing his fingers gently. He smiled at her, optics glowing softly in the dark.

"I'm alright. You just worry about getting better. And hey, work things out with lugnut here," he added, jerking a thumb towards Optimus. "He told me about Aerith being back. I know it's worrisome, but Optimus is crazy about you. He's convinced you're his sparkmate, and he's not going to give that up just because the ex is back in the picture."

Elita nodded, and Jetfire hugged her briefly before departing the room, closing the door quietly behind him. She looked back down at her sleeping lover, inhaling deeply before shaking him gently. It took a few prods and pokes to awaken him, and even then it took a breem or two for him to be fully conscious.

"…Elita?" he mumbled thickly, rubbing his optics as he sat up. "How are you feeling? Does your head hurt?"

"I'm fine," she responded, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. "Tell me about Aerith."

He paused, blinking, but then the events of the past few joors came rushing back to him. "…Oh. Elita, I'm so sorry, I didn't know that Megatron--"

"What does Megatron have to do with anything?"

Optimus hesitated. Elita had been devastated when she lost her bond with his brother; how could he bring himself to tell her that all along Megatron had been courting another femme? He felt a wave of anger towards his little brother, and ignored Megatron's soft prods over their bond. Megatron wanted to talk, but Optimus was in no way ready.

"I'll tell you all about that later," he said softly. "Once you've recovered."

"Then tell me about Bumblebee," she replied quietly, incredibly blue optics piercing his. Aerith he could skim over, but Bumblebee…he couldn't like about his little Bee any longer.

"He's my son," Optimus began slowly, and Elita flinched visibly. "Mine and Aerith's. We knew we couldn't bond, it would kill us both. Her spark was too unstable. But we wanted a life together, a family. So we…we went to Alpha Trion."

Elita shuttered her optics tiredly. "Of course you did," she grumbled. Sighing, she lay back and patted the berth. Optimus climbed up beside her hesitantly, relaxing when she snuggled up against his frame. "Continue."

"We went to Trion," he repeated, frowning up at the ceiling. "And he…pulled off one of his crazy scientific stunts. He took a shard from each of our sparks…not really a shard, but a small amount of matter…and used it to create another spark altogether."

Elita inhaled sharply, her own scientific mind struggling to put those pieces together. How was that even possible? "Wouldn't the spark be too small to sustain itself?" she inquired.

"It was," Optimus said, nodding. "Trion supplemented it with small amounts of stable anti-matter. It's not the most natural spark, but it's a spark all the same." His optics dimmed, and his next words were quiet. "But it gave us a child. It gave us what we always wanted. And, through Bumblebee, the joining of our sparks…we could feel one another a little." He rubbed his chest plates absently, and Elita felt a pang of sadness. Aerith was in Optimus's spark in every way… "It's nothing like what I'd imagine a sparkbond to be, but I could sense her, she could sense me."

He swallowed nervously, glancing down at the femme cuddled up against his frame. "So…that's it. It wasn't all that complicated in the long run. We raised Bumblebee together. We kept his parentage quiet, so only Ratchet and a few others actually know, but…"

"Optimus."

"Yes?"

"…Are you going back to her?"

He bit his lower lip. "Elita…"

"I know. It must be hard. I asked you once if you'd choose Aerith over me. And you said you couldn't decide, that you'd never have both of us." She laughed bitterly at the irony, then went quiet. "…Optimus. Optimus, I…want you to be happy. I promise I won't resent you, no matter what you choose."

Prime shuttered his optics tightly, wrapping his arms around the little femme and pulling her close. "I really do love you," he whispered, lips caressing her audio. "So much, Elita. It's just…" He broke off, struggling for words. She shushed him gently, shaking her head.

"No more talking. I'm tired."

"Of course. You need your rest."

She pressed her face into his chestplates, allowing the soft thrum of his spark to lull her into recharge. He, however, lay awake for some time.

* * *

"YOU'RE SUCH A JERK!"

"Aren't you going to listen?"

"NO!"

"Don't you want to know what happened?"

"I DON'T CARE!"

"Of course you do."

"I DON'T!"

"…How about you, Hotshot?"

"Hey, sorry, man. I just can't handle this now."

"…Smokescreen?"

"I'm with Hotshot. We'll talk later, alright?"

Scavenger, defeated, watched glumly as his teammates swiftly departed the rec room. Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well. That didn't go as planned. Guess disappearing for a few hundred vorns isn't something they'd take too kindly too…"

"They're just having trouble coming to terms with it," Red Alert said lightly, clapping his old friend on the shoulder as he came up behind him. "I, for one, would like to know how you survived, you crazy fragger. That explosion was pretty extreme…"

"It wasn't really a matter of surviving so much as faking death," Scavenger sighed. "I told all of you already, Optimus needed me for an espionage mission. I had to disappear." His optics dimmed sadly. "But I hear ol' Wingsaber took the rap?"

Red Alert released a low growl. "That fragger had it coming."

"But I didn't really die."

"Doesn't matter. He left you for dead."

The two mechs shuffled into a corner to grab a table, leaving Elita One, who had been standing nearby, very confused. Did Optimus's hostility toward Wingsaber have something to do with Scavenger's supposed death? And just who the frag was this Scavenger anyway?

Plagued with questions, she left the rec room. She wanted to sit down with Optimus and ask him, but he was conflicted in interest at the moment. If he was going to choose Aerith over her, then she didn't want to probe any deeper into his past than she had to--

She paused and sighed. No, that wasn't true. No matter who he chose, she couldn't deny that she still wanted Optimus, past, present, and future. She wanted to know everything about him. She still couldn't bring herself to ask, but she had to know…

Turning the corner, she was surprised to see Jetfire, who'd stormed out of the recreation room only moments before, leaning against a window, his foreplate pressed to the clear glass and his optics shuttered. His optic ridges were knitted and his exposed face was twisted into a frown. She'd never seen the cheerful mech looking so troubled.

"Jetfire?" she piped up, cautiously going to his side and touching his arm. "Are you alright?"

"…DAMMIT!"

"What?!" she yelped, jumping backwards when he abruptly threw a fist into the wall. "Jetfire?!"

"Dammit! Why does this have to happen _now_?! What the Pit is that fragger playing at?!" the immense white mech kicked the wall, snarling in anger and pain when his foot impacted with the solid steel. "Frag it all! I hate this!"

He abruptly fell silent, his intakes heaving, hands clenched into fists and his optics shuttered tightly. Elita moved forward tentatively, placing a hand on his back.

"Jetfire…?"

"…My dad's execution is coming up," he said quietly, not moving from his rigid stance. "It's just throwing me off. I know it shouldn't be bothering me, but it is. I hate this, not having closure. Not being able to tell him that I hate him with everything I've got, not being able to say that I wish things had turned out differently. Not being able to thank him." He inhaled shakily, shaking his head. "He killed my mom. I shouldn't give half a frag about that bastard. But I do. And that's the worst part. He's my dad and I can't convince my spark otherwise."

Elita blinked. She'd heard rumors that Jetfire's mother had died tragically, that his father was in prison waiting for his spark to give out. But she hadn't known that his father had been the murderer himself.

"…She killed my sister," Jetfire said quietly, dropping his head against the window with a soft clunk. "And she was going to kill me. Dad heard me crying out, or sensed my distress, or something, but he came in and shot her in the back. That was all there was to it. They locked him up and put me in another home.

"…Scavenger saved me. He found me in the street and took me in, brought me to base and raised me as his own. He wasn't actually a soldier, so he wasn't around a lot, but he and Sentinel were old friends. He lived on base, but as a bounty hunter he was all over the place. But I was always looking forward to his coming home. He taught me how to fight and fly and what it meant to be a warrior. He was the father I'd always wanted."

Jetfire shuddered gently, his intakes making small clouds of condensation on the window. "Primus. It was so…hard. It's just…my own mother loved me so much that she wanted me to die." He looked sideways, incredibly golden optics alighting gently on Elita's, and she was shocked to see his normally bubbly confidence replaced by such pain. "I wanted to find someone who loved me so much that they wanted me to live."

She placed her small hand upon his. "Optimus does," she said seriously. "You didn't see him when that assassin got you. He wasn't even half alive. He loves you, Jetfire, he really does."

Jetfire was silent for a moment, but then his lip components twitched into a smile. "Huh. Then I guess you need to stop horning in on my territory, femme."

"Don't get too cocky."

"Too late."

"I know," she sighed, and beamed when Jetfire laughed openly. "Listen. You can still talk to your father, I'm sure. That is, if you really want to. I'm sure Prowl can weasel you in for a last visit."

"…Yeah. I might ask him." He looked down at the femme, optics blinking curiously. "Did you and Optimus reach a truce?"

"We weren't exactly fighting."

"Oh. No kidding? I was with one femme, and when her ex came back into her life, it was like a huge explosion…"

"Optimus has you beat in terms of maturity."

"That's not nice. He cries too much."

"At _least _he cries! Femmes are attracted to that sort of thing, you know, it shows sensitivity!"

"You're kidding. Femmes actually like wimps?"

"No, they like complicated tough guys."

"Oh, well that's Optimus down to the smallest detail, now isn't it. And I'm going to tell you what you think of him."

"I never said I thought of him that way!"

"But you implied it!"

"So?!"

They both paused, so caught up in their bickering that they hadn't noticed the skeptical optics nearby. Valkyrie was standing not more than a few feet away, arms over her chest and one optic ridge raised.

"Oh," Jetfire said stupidly, straightening (he'd bent over to be more Elita's level as they argued). "Um…hi."

"Hey, fly boy," she replied lightly, smiling slightly. "How's it going?"

"Um…it's good. It's…yeah, good," he said blankly. Elita elbowed him hard, and he grimaced, stepping on her foot in response. "What are you…um, doing here?"

"Looking around the base. Eclipse said I ought to introduce myself to the big guys on top." She cocked her head, observing Elita carefully. "This your femme?"

"What?! Oh, um, no, she's--she's my best friend's mate, um, soon-to-be, uh, intended--"

Elita rolled her optics skyward. Jetfire's nerves had chosen a brilliant time to act up. "I'm Elita One," she said smoothly, regarding the new arrival curiously. "You seem to have already met our…charming aerial commander."

"I saved his aft," Valkyrie offered as an explanation, and Jetfire released a squawk.

"Hey! I saved yours too!"

"Well, yeah. I suppose you did. Lucky you," she smirked, blue optics dancing excitedly. "Now tell me, fly boy--did I make the right move in saving your sorry aft?"

Jetfire cocked his head, his spark thrashing against its restraints. There was nothing he liked more than a feisty femme. "We could debate it over a cube of high grade, if you like."

She grinned. "Ooh, smooth. I'll give you points for the attempt. But I don't recall asking to be hunted like an animal."

He folded his arms over his chest, mimicking her, handsome faceplates sliding into a pout. "Then what do I have to do to get you to go out with me, hm?"

"You'll have to figure that out for yourself, now won't you?" she giggled, winking at him before turning her attention back to a slightly sheepish Elita. "I'm Eclipse's second in command, by the way. Well, next to Wingsaber, but due to the fact that he's--"

"A complete moron?" Jetfire offered a little more venomously than he'd intended.

"…Um. No, her sparkmate," Valkyrie corrected, frowning slightly at the suddenly bristling white mech. "Anyway. They're bonded, so he hardly counts." She waved a hand dismissively. "Mostly I just help her manage the workload and keep Haven's miscreants in order."

"We're two of a kind," Elita said brightly, not-so-subtly kicking Jetfire in the lower leg to get him to put his grumpy face away. He took the hint, burying his anger and plastering his trademark smirk on once more. "Right. Well, I'll leave you two to it--go easy on him, will you? We may need him later."

Jetfire stuck his glossa out at her, and she grinned back before hurriedly departing down the hall. A slightly awkward silence hung behind her; Valkyrie scuffed the floor with a foot, and Jetfire glanced out the window, struggling to find words.

"…So. Um…" He paused, looking over at the femme. Her dark armor glittered in the fading light from outside. He blinked twice, cautiously, as though afraid he'd dispell the image before him. "I'm just going to come right out and say it," he said at last. "My spark's reacting to you."

She looked unsurprised by his statement, coming forward to stand before him. "Poor you."

He arched one optic ridge. "Care to elaborate?"

Smiling, she moved closer, until their chests were no more than a breath apart. He could feel the heat of her body against his frame. "You know, I think I've figured out what your problem is," she said quietly, turning her face to look up at the dark visage scowling handsomely down at her. "You have no grasp on the concept of peril. You have no idea when you're in danger."

"I fail to see how you're a threat to me," he breathed, one large hand straying to her lower back, pulling her closer. The feel of such a dangerous attraction was intoxicating. He always had liked a little danger.

"Surely a smart mech like you knows about the gladiatorial rings," she purred, optics glittering faintly. "Those arenas were the only home I've ever known. My family consisted of the bots I had to fight to the death on a nightly basis."

Jetfire felt a thrill run through him. The femme was so fragging _dangerous_! She was a wild card, completely unclaimed and untamed. Barely suppressing a shiver, he leant down, shuttering his optics and lowering his mouth to hers, but he found himself kissing air. Blinking his optics open, he looked over his shoulder to see her busily scribbling on his armor with a stylus.

"…What the frag are you--?"

"There," she said, stepping back to admire her work. "That's the number of the apartment I'm staying at." She moved under his arm and past him easily, turning to wave over her shoulder. "Come see me tonight. After you've steeled yourself, that is."

He stood still for a time, dumbstuck, watching her dark form move swiftly down the hallway, halfway unsure that what he'd just seen had really occurred. Feeling something against his fingers, he looked down to see that she'd slipped the stylus into his hand. A wild grin etched itself across his faceplates, and something in his spark burst.

"…_**VICTORY IS MINE!!!**_"

* * *

**Please review! How many of you are furious with Elita? XD I don't know what I'd do in that sort of situation...I'm actually seeing someone now, and I can't imagine how I'd react if he came up to me and said "I have a son with this maniac of a girl. What are we going to do about this?" I just...ugh XD **

**Pretty please leave a review?**


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

_Plenoptic_

…**DANG. IT. I had like another ten pages or so written for this chapter…they were on my computer…and now they AREN'T…**

* * *

Two orns later, Elita One realized the true definition of awkwardness.

Awkward was having a tragic almost-breakup with a mech she hadn't really been seeing, then turning to her best friend for the lost company. And winding up sitting rigidly on said friend's couch while said friend happily kissed her mech.

Furthermore, awkward was instead going to hang out with her sort-of-ex's best friend—and then sitting, again, rigidly, while he eagerly fondled his new squeeze while she pretended to be uninterested.

And then, of course, there was the irritating scene in which said sort-of-ex's younger sister giggled and batted away her obnoxious sparkmate's roaming hands, and then a medic attempting to woo a skeptical but flattered younger femme, _and_ a certain flame-decorated sub-commander purring and putting his hands all over his pretty pink intended.

Elita concluded that the only thing worse than a happy couple was _lots_ of happy couples.

"I wish you'd just go win the stupid aft back," Chromia sighed, sending her happily sated sparkmate to fetch energon while she attempted to soothe her best friend. Elita, after making a large loop around base and finding no sanctuary from the demon called love, had somehow made her way back into Chromia and Ironhide's quarters.

"It's not that simple, Mia," Elita said tiredly, staring glumly at the floor. "I mean, he had Aerith first, you know? And you and Ratchet and Ironhide have all told me how _happy_ they were together. And they have a sparkling, for Primus's sake! I can't ask him to abandon his family just to make me happy."

"But he's your sparkmate," Chromia intoned sadly, spark aching for her friend. "And don't forget that Aerith abandoned him for a mech she didn't even love. Her spark went mad for Megatron, and she left Optimus to chase a childish infatuation."

"How did you know?" Elita asked, looking up in surprise.

"Optimus told me. Rather, he came to tell Ironhide, and I sat in." Chromia sighed, absently straightening a thoroughly christened recharge blanket across her and Ironhide's well-worn berth. It was the berth they'd bought together when they'd first bonded—she remembered all too well the long three vorns it had taken them to save up enough credit to buy a berth on which they could thoroughly enjoy one another. They'd made real magic on this berth. "Elita, if you love Optimus, you should fight for him. That's all there is to it. And since when does Elita One just roll over for anyone, least of all a strange femme who's suddenly claimed her mech?"

Elita smiled ruefully. "I guess it's not much like me."

"It's not like you _at all_. Listen to me, Lita," Chromia said gently, sitting forward and taking the femme's hands into her own. "Optimus _never_ looked at Aerith the way he looks at you. You've changed him, and it's for the better, I promise you. He's in love with you, you're in love with him—it's a lot simpler than you're making it out to be. There's no reason he can't be a father to Bumblebee and a sparkmate to you."

The Femme Commander cast her gaze aside, frowning. It still didn't sit right with her. She loved Optimus, more than anything else in the universe, but did that really give her the right to step in and pull apart a family?

"Thanks for the advice, Mia," she said quietly. "But I think I need to figure this out for myself."

"Of course," Chromia replied, nodding. "I'll be right here if you need me."

Elita felt a grin twitch on her face. "Ironhide too, right?"

"As always," she snorted, casting her optics towards the ceiling. "But don't get cute with me, you prat. Go talk to your stupid mech."

Elita heartily agreed and left the little apartment feeling much better (she and Ironhide exchanged cheery grins as they passed in the halls, even), but she still didn't feel quite prepared to confront Optimus. Not yet, anyway. Her courage waned with every step she took away from Chromia's quarters. No matter how she tried to put it from her mind, images of Optimus and Aerith continued to wander aimlessly into her processor, haunting her, teasing her. What had it been like, being the first femme Optimus had ever loved? What had it been like, being the first he'd ever kissed, in that soft, almost nervous way he did? To be the one with whom he first experienced the wild thrill of physical intimacy, to be the one to show him what it meant to be so close to another…

"Hey, hey, pretty thing, whatcha doin' lookin' so down?"

Elita glanced over her shoulder, rolling her optics and keeping up her pace as the massive white shuttle jogged to catch up to her. "Hello to you, too, Jetfire. Enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, you've know idea," he said, almost giddy. "Valkyrie is amazing, she's beyond amazing. Seriously awesome. I haven't had this much fun since—well, since I first met Optimus, I suppose. But, anyway, I'm so into her I don't even care if she makes me wait to interface."

"That _is_ progress," Elita snorted, shaking her head, amused. "Good for you, Jet."

"How's stuff with you and the big guy? I mean, probably a bit of an issue now that Aerith is back in the picture?"

"Er, yeah. A bit."

"Ouch, damn, well now I feel bad about going on like that about me and Vallie…"

"Don't." Elita shrugged one shoulder off-handedly. "It's my problem to deal with, so it's ridiculous for you to feel guilty about enjoying your relationship."

"Oh, ouch, don't use the 'r' word, please," he groaned, placing his hands over his audio receptors. "It's a fling, Lita, just a fling, just a flame, _don't_ pull the 'r' word or I'll panic and cut it off right there."

"Sorry, sorry," she laughed, and he grinned, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

"Don't laugh at me, femme, I swear I'll make something of it, you know I will—"

"Get _off_, Jetfire, I'm serious—"

"Stop laughing then!"

Chuckling away, the two rounded the corner, arm-in-arm, and had the misfortune of running smack into Optimus Prime—hand-in-hand with Aerith. For a moment, the silence was palpable, each duo surveying and sizing up the other. Optimus's gaze fell to Elita's and then he averted it; she looked away, at Aerith, and instead turned to Jetfire, who grimaced and looked at his oversized feet, instantly wishing himself elsewhere.

"Excuse us," Optimus said at last, dipping his head. Aerith drew a little closer to his side, both small hands winding around his arm.

"No, uh, we weren't looking," Jetfire said quickly, and Elita nearly gasped aloud when he put his arm around her shoulders once more, pulling her into him. "We were just off to grab a drink—care to join us?"

"Aren't you planning on inviting _your_ femme along?" Optimus inquired, arching a suspicious optic ridge, and Jetfire grinned.

"Nah, Lita and I thought we'd go just the two of us—go catch up privately, you know, it's so hard to keep in contact with everyone, what with all this fighting going on. Besides, Boss, you've been busy lately, so I'm happy to look after Lita for you, keep her company, yeah?" He clapped a cheery hand on his stunned commander's shoulder before fairly dragging Elita past. "Come on, then, Miss Femme Commander, lots of fun to be had!"

It took the entire journey down to the rec room for Elita to find her voice again, and even then, her inquiry only came out in stunned, weak gasps:

"What…the _Pit…_was _that…_?"

"Underhanded mech tactics, of course," Jetfire laughed cheerfully. "We can be just as bad as you femmes when we put our processors to it, you know. Primus, he's going to be _fuming_—I wish I could see the look on his face _now_, did you see how jealous he was? It was practically _radiating_ off of him—"

"You're an idiot! He's your superior officer!"

"I didn't do anything against protocol, if anything, I'm 'technically' helping him out," Jetfire soothed, patting her shoulder as pulled out a seat. "Aerith fragged him over big-time. The femme's unstable, you know? Besides, Opt needs you."

Elita grimaced. "Everyone keeps saying that…"

"We know what's good for Optimus. Well, better than he does, in any case." Jetfire shrugged, waving to a droid, which zipped over as programmed with a tray of energon cubes. "Keep trying. He's not in love with Aerith, he's feeling guilty is all. There's a kid involved, who wouldn't?"

"Kid involved in what, Jet?"

The air commander tipped his head back, grinning when his helm thunked softly on the slim belly of his newest squeeze. "Hey there, Vallie. Miss me already?"

"Hardly. Don't get your hopes up." Stepping around her gooey-eyed mech, Valkyrie seated herself on Elita's free side. "Eclipse has filled me in on the Prime situation."

"No pun intended?"

"Shut up, Jetfire. What are you going to do?" Valkyrie inquired, turning her gaze to Elita after lodging a foot in Jetfire's shin.

"A very good question," Elita muttered, sinking lower in her seat when Optimus and Aerith slipped through the rec room doors. "Oh, Primus. This is getting ridiculous."

"Told you he'd be jealous," Jetfire snickered, waving cheerily at his commander when the couple took a table within optic range of theirs. Optimus waved back weakly, grimacing when Aerith tugged on his shoulder guard to get his attention. She now had Bumblebee perched in her lap, having apparently retrieved him from his caretaker. Elita allowed herself to watch, if only for a moment, a small smile threading its way across her face when Optimus leaned in to playfully poke his tiny son's stomach.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Elita announced softly, drawing the attention of the bickering couple in her company. "I don't know that I'll do anything…at least until I know how he feels about the situation."

Jetfire hesitated, sharing a glance with Valkyrie before leaning in cautiously and wrapping thick fingers around Eilta's. "Lita. What is it that _you _want?"

Oh, Primus. What she wanted?

"I…" Did she even know anymore? "I don't want to hurt him. I don't want him to suffer, not again. Not anymore. And I don't want to deprive Bumblebee of his father, and I don't want Aerith to be hurt either. But I…" Elita paused, struggling to control her trembling voice. "I want to be with him. I do. I want…"

All of her words died then, because the most unlikely mech entered the room—Megatron, gleaming just as handsomely as his brother in the light, casting a wary glance around the room, tactfully avoiding the dark glare Optimus cast in his direction. As if in a trance, and against Jetfire's immediate protests, Elita lifted herself from her chair and strode purposefully toward the Cybertronian lord, ignoring his apparent surprise when she seized his hand in both of hers and dragged him from the room. Her legs guided her without her processor or spark playing any part. She was wrapped up in a sudden need, a sudden desire to seek sympathy by someone in her position—someone who had been _replaced_ by another more beloved than they.

She squeezed the both of them into the tiny lift, staring determinedly at her feet as it carried them to the first and last place she wanted to be. Megatron followed her silently onto the roof, apprehensive but feeling nonetheless that, after all that he'd done, the least he could do was listen to her.

Wrapping her arms around her tiny frame, guarding herself against both the whipping wind and the whirling emotions within, Elita One lowered her head, clamped her optic shutters closed—and began to cry. Deep, heaving sobs, dry but carrying more pain than she thought she'd ever felt. The only one privy to it was the one who was very much the cause, but Megatron said nothing, stepping forward and enfolding her gently in his arms, soothing and warming her trembling frame.

"I know," he spoke softly, one large hand thumbing her lower back tenderly, caressing the femme he so loved still. "I'm sorry."

There was nothing else that needed to be said, allowing her emotions free reign, gently enveloped by a mech so dearly beloved and so hated.

* * *

"Bumblebee's in recharge."

"Hm."

"He went down so fast—tired from all that playing today, I suppose."

"Right."

Aerith hesitated, looking over a slim shoulder at the hulking mass of mech on the couch. Optimus was leant over, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped between his legs, his expression dark and brooding, radiant optics piercing nothingness. Hesitantly, crossing their dim living area, Aerith sank down beside him, placing one small hand on his forearm.

"It's been such a long time since we made love," she murmured, and while she was sure Optimus caught the hint, he ignored it tactfully.

"Aerith, please…" He grimaced, lifting a hand to scrub tiredly at his exposed face. "I just…need some time."

She was silent for a moment, considering, spark twisting in on itself when she realized what it was that was tormenting him so. Clenching her jaw, she squeezed his arm before nodding curtly and getting to her feet, departing the room silently, closing the door to their berth room behind her. Expelling a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Optimus flopped back against the couch, shuttering his optics, willing his aching processor to stop computing for a moment so he could rest. The effort was futile; his agitated frame of mind notwithstanding, his spark was a whirlwind of tempestuous emotion, a storm he was helpless to stop…

Until he made a decision, that was.

"Dammit," he muttered irritably, mouth pulled into a firm, unhappy line. "Damn it all." He couldn't help but be forced to fight down the strong inclination to go punch his brother in his damned face. He couldn't resent Megatron for saving Aerith's life, nor for returning her to the mech she truly loved, nor for, in effect, giving little Bee his mother back, but…

Restless, he got to his feet, leaving his quarters swiftly and silently, feet carrying him down the darkened hallways with no real destination. Though the lower levels hummed quietly with the night shift's activity, the residential area was virtually silent; all the same, he knew she was awake even before she sleepily answered the soft knock upon her door.

Elita One stilled when the door stood back to reveal her lover, slowly lowering the hand she'd been rubbing her optics with. He said nothing for a moment, allowing himself, guiltily, to drink in the mere sight of her. A glimpse of her glinting armor had long been enough to stir his spark into a desirous frenzy; seeing her standing there in the dark, moonlight captured and reflected rapturously on her curvy frame, set his whole being alight with need.

He stepped forward, and she back, suspicious, expression darkening when he closed the door behind her, retreating back for every step he advanced, until she was backed up against the wall and he loomed before her. The thick overlying ridges of his helm cast his face into shadow, his optics burning through her in the gloom. Large hands settled against the wall on either side of her helm, trapping her, and in the moment when her gaze met his she knew what would transpire before he'd made another move.

Their kiss was fierce, more animalistic than loving, wild desire moving their bodies and twisting their sparks. Strong hands pulled her close, winding their bodies together intimately, and she found herself gripping every bit of him she could find, wanton and desperate for his touch.

"We shouldn't," she gasped, moaning softly when he caressed her.

He growled quietly, low, possessively, dropping his mouth to her throat and biting her, marking her roughly. "I don't care."

Their love-making was every bit as fiery as their kiss, more so because he _had_ her, wanted her, owned her. They gave in to lust, foregoing the trip to the berth, satisfying one another right then and there, entwined on the floor. Elita dropped her head back, losing herself to him, wondering vaguely at this passionately monstrous side of her Prime, so foreign and so desirable. It whispered to her that Optimus was indeed growing, developing a hardened, powerful warrior somewhere deep within, behind those warm optics and that kind smile.

And oh, how little it mattered to her. Passionate, lustful, angry, smiling, battle-scarred, bloodthirsty, charismatic, sensitive—no matter what face Optimus showed her, she was intoxicated by him completely. So very, very in love with all that he was. She kissed him, long and hard, winding her arms around his neck, pulling him into her. What she wanted? It was all so simple.

She wanted him. All of him. She didn't want anyone else to have him, see him, touch him. Optimus was light. Life. He was power, majesty, nobility, compassion, beauty. He was ethereal and endless, broken and so handsomely scarred. A shattered, lonely spark, calling softly and sweetly to hers, even in moments like these, when he was much more a beast than a mech.

It was joors later when he finally relaxed into recharge, spent, exhausted, the feral look in his optics fading in his last few moments of consciousness, as she guided him to her berth. Optics flickering, dimming, his hand lifted and cupped her face for a moment before falling back onto the giving surface of the berth, vents hissing softly as his overheated frame settled at long last into its recharge cycle. She sat silently beside him, drinking in the sight of him, where he belonged—recharge beside her, in her bed, his last gesture having been one of love.

Sighing quietly, she crossed to the other side of the berth and settled in beside him, curling into his side, lovingly tracing the faint scars that crossed his powerfully built chassis.

The Prime. The thought had never struck her before, but now she marveled that a living, breathing piece of Cybertronian history loved her. Even after he was dead and gone, his name would still be spoken with the same reverence, and not just on Cybertron—across the universe, on every planet he had ever touched. And history would count her as his beloved, his Empress, the Cybertronian queen whom he loved enough to share his spark with.

The mere thought sent chills through her, enticing her. She could be his, and so easily. The surety of that feeling was so exhilarating, so terrifying. Even considering their problems with Aerith and Megatron and Bumblebee, Elita still felt, inexplicably, that she was Optimus's sparkmate. That he would bond with her, no matter what happened, no matter what the consequences.

She fell into recharge beside him, chassis close to his, and their sparks trembled.

* * *

The being called Prima, as ancient as the planet Cybertron itself, stood absolutely still.

The ground beneath her was literally shaking, groaning under the weight of a thousand heavy feet. Crystalline blue optics surveyed the approaching army dispassionately, a little flicker of distaste touching her spark. The rebel forces marched on, incredibly unnoticed by Prime's intel, with no knowledge of the goddess they marched upon.

Canting her head to the side, shuttering her optics, Prima silently ordered time to be still.

The effect spread like a wave, rippling out from the small outcropping on which she stood and traveling, at near lightspeed, to envelope the encroaching army completely. Locked in an interspace "bubble," the rebels froze, their existences pulled out of the normal flow of the time stream and halted completely.

"Incredible. Even today, its power amazes me."

Prime turned, inclining her head politely when Alpha Trion joined her. Primon followed at the old mech's heels, hovering behind his sparkmate, optics surveying the scene before them opaquely, neutrally.

"It is formidable," Prima agreed, tucking her hands behind her back, looking upon her work with a hint of pride. Five hundred plus rebels, frozen entirely, and she couldn't even feel a drain on her spark. Primon softly rumbled his own agreement, optics narrowing marginally. Nova and Sentinel rounded the knoll behind them, standing quietly in the background, silently ogling the sight.

"I daresay this will aid Optimus greatly," Trion decided, turning to Prima. "If you can hold them here, that is."

"_I _daresay I could remove them from the timestream completely, if I so wished," Prima replied mildly, leaning her frame casually against Primon's. "I shall leave them here for now. They can come back in a few thousand vorns and enjoy the changed world."

"With respect, milord, perhaps we should not linger here much longer," Nova suggested quietly, drawing Primon's attention. "Optimus has need of us, or so I understand it. Am I correct?"

"You are." Primon tilted his head to the sky, considering. Yes, the young Prime was in dire need of assistance. He had no true grasp of his immortal heritage, nor of the great power he possessed. He would need a firm hand to guide him through the trials on the horizon. "We move on. We shall continue to test our individual abilities as time allows. But we must move forward."

"But of course," Trion agreed, stepping down from the knoll and back onto the battered road. For a few moments, all that could be heard were the sounds of many transformations, legendary frames folding into more practical terrain vehicles, and then the convoy consisting of the most ancient and powerful of Cybertronians continued on toward Iacon.

* * *

**Real quick update to tide everybody over until I can get down to some serious writing. I seriously hurt my hand during a sparring match in karate, and it's taken a lot of time to heal. I've also been doing a lot of traveling this summer. It's really left very little time for literary endeavours. Please pardon me. **

**Reviews? Somehow I feel like this story is struggling to survive :/ **


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